


Wrecked

by katelusive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Science, Gratuitous Banter, M/M, many feelings, wreck diving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katelusive/pseuds/katelusive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Louis are professional wreck divers in a small fishing town.  Zayn works at the diner where they get their morning coffee.  </p><p>Although Liam wants to focus on marine biology, a sudden underwater discovery pulls him right back into the dangerous sport of wreck diving.  Zayn spends most of his free time daydreaming about Liam slowly taking off his wetsuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Um so this is basically 5k of gratuitous unrequited Zayn feels and Liam being a dork about marine biology. I was thinking about making it a chaptered kind of thing so if people like it, I would be happy to post more!

It’s 5am and Zayn’s on his second cup of coffee, slowly getting the diner ready for the first wave of customers. The first hint of sunrise has begun to bleed over the horizon through the front plate glass window. It’s silent but for seagulls squawking in the distance and the occasional faraway motor.  Zayn hasn’t even flipped the sign around on the door before Louis and Liam are trooping in, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, already bickering.

“Sorry lads, not open yet,” he says. Louis gives him a dark look, kicking sand off his boots onto Zayn’s freshly clean tiles.  

“Don’t start, Malik,” he says. “Not today.”

“Morning to you too, Tomlinson,” says Zayn. 

“Don’t mind him,” says Liam, taking his usual seat at the bar.  “He’s pissed. He thought he was gonna pull last night.” 

“I did pull last night,” hisses Louis. “ _Someone_ burst in at a very inopportune time to show me a tube of dirt, which rather ruined the mood.”  

“Oh, the mood was fine.  Stop whining.”  

“Dirt?” asks Zayn, pouring two coffees. He has no idea what they’re talking about, but he knows their order by heart – coffee, black and scrambled eggs with cheese for Louis.  Coffee with cream and a spinach omelet with tomato slices for Liam.

“Not strictly speaking—“ 

“A fuckin’ tube of fuckin’ dirt,” Louis confirms, glowering at Liam.  “This spring project has officially gone too far.  You’re acting like a madman.” 

“I got excited,” says Liam, shrugging. “I’ve apologized a hundred times by now, please get over it.  It was a breakthrough!” 

“A dirt breakthrough, eh?” Zayn asks, grinning. “Does that mean your project’s finally going well?”  He sets one coffee down in front of Louis, and adds cream to Liam’s.  

Liam and Louis have been working on a Navy project for a couple of months now, trying to get government funding to protect certain marine wildlife zones.  They’re both commercial divers by trade, giving chartered wreck dive tours during the summer, but the Navy had recently contracted them for their diving expertise, Liam’s extensive knowledge of marine biology, and their proximity to the project. 

“Thanks Zayn,” says Liam, smiling up at him. “And yes, it’s great. Finally.”  His honey-colored eyes seem brighter than usual in the thin pre-dawn light, deep and sparkling with good humor.  Zayn busies himself wiping some silverware.

“The thing about the dirt,” Liam continues, “and, well, it’s not even dirt actually, so let’s stop calling it that, but it proves – it finally shows some measurable progress.  We should be celebrating!” 

“I was having a private celebration,” Louis grumbles. “You know I don’t care about this project.  You know I’m counting down the days until we’re done with it. I had no interest in your dirt tubes.” 

“So you’ve done it, basically?” Zayn asks. 

Liam’s grinning broadly, far too handsome for this early in the morning.  “Yes, and that’s only the start!  This means – it’s huge, Zayn, it’s massive!  It means that not only are the seahorses flourishing, but the entire ecosystem is almost back where it should be.  It’s the first time we’ve been able to measure it conclusively! 

“You’re being a nerd,” interjects Louis firmly. “Zayn doesn’t care about this, he’s just being nice.”

“Not true,” Zayn protests, trying to stay low key. Oh god, he cares so much. He’s actually making an effort to hide how much he cares.  Liam’s waving his hands around as he talks, eyes scrunching up as he gets more and more excited.

“It’s actually even better than the Navy’s projections. Finally, our work is paying off. I mean now we might be able to get the entire zone protected, I’ve already sent the data to the drafting committee—” 

“Without letting me proofread it first?” Louis shakes his head in despair.  “Probably riddled with spelling errors.”  

“What are you protecting, again?” Zayn asks, setting out the bagels and pastries in the display window. 

“Well—“

“Oh lord, please don’t get him started already,” Louis groans.  “I’ve got to listen to this kind of chatter all day long.  I can’t wait until we can start up the wreck tours again, I’m bored out of my mind.” 

“Well, nurse sharks for one, and this species of seahorse that’s been endangered for awhile—“ 

“Liam, please, no more seahorses until I’ve had my breakfast.” 

“Not to mention these little blue fish, they’re real cute actually, and quite important as well—“ 

“Can’t wait to get you underwater, Payno,” grumbles Louis.  “That’s the only time you shut up for a few minutes.”

“That’s great, guys,” Zayn says, genuinely happy. The wreck they’ve been diving is called the _Mariana_ , which was purposely sunk by the Navy to foster wildlife.  A weird practice, Zayn though, but it was apparently pretty common.

Overfishing and pollution had all but ruined the fish population in the past several years (Zayn has learned, somewhat against his will), and Liam and Louis were contracted to dive the wreck biweekly to measure ecological progress.   Liam, who held a degree in marine biology, lived for jobs like this.  This was his first Navy contract, and the first two months had been painful to watch as it seemed nothing would go their way. Zayn grinned at Liam, unable to help himself.  

“I for one can’t wait til we can get back to what we were put on this earth to do,” Louis says.  “namely, putting ourselves in extreme danger for the sake of buried treasure. I don’t care if I never see another seahorse in my life.  Can I get some eggs, Zayn?”  

“Sure.  Liam, omelet?” 

“Yes sir,” says Liam with a sunny little grin, polite as always.  His hair seems lighter than usual, soft and clean, tumbling down over his forehead. Zayn turns away to light the grill, distracting himself with the familiar motions.  Eggs.  Breakfast. Easy.  

“I reckon we’ll be done soon,” says Liam. “That’s why I wanted to show you what I found last night, Lou!  I thought you’d be thrilled.” 

“I will never be thrilled to see you in my bedroom,” says Louis.  “Not at any time, not for any reason.” 

“What if I’m saving you from a fire?" 

“Of course I’ll be pissed then, the house is on fire and we’re homeless!  I’ll complain the entire time you’re carrying me out, don’t think I won’t.”

The door rattles open, bell jingling, and a blonde man tumbles through the door and launches himself at Liam. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon now, fingers of orange reaching up through the deep blue sky.

“Lads!  Big news!” 

“Morning Niall,” says Louis, primly sipping his coffee. Niall’s eyes are wild, and he’s waving his hands around wordlessly at Liam.  Louis raises his eyebrows at Zayn, who shrugs.  Niall’s the excitable captain of the _Explorer_ , the charter boat that Liam and Louis usually dive from. He looks like he’s having a fit.

“I got a tip!  New numbers.  You boys still on that blasted nature job today, or can we get back to business?”

Typically, they do commercial dive tours for tourists as well as salvage dives through the summer season, often well into the fall depending on weather.  The “nature job” has interrupted their schedule somewhat, much to Louis’ chagrin, although Zayn feels certain the Navy probably pays better than whatever they’re making off the tourists. 

“New numbers?” asks Louis, jerking his head around to look at Niall, eyes gleaming. 

“Yeah, we’re still on the nature job,” says Liam, taking a sip of coffee.  Zayn flips Liam’s omelet, adding a little paprika.  Liam likes it when he does that.  Louis’ eggs are in danger of burning and Zayn hurriedly scoops them onto a plate.

“But we’ve got new numbers, Payne,” says Louis slowly, ignoring the food Zayn’s just set in front of him.  He’s staring, incredulous, at Liam, who gives him a wordless shrug like “what can ya do?”

‘Numbers’, Zayn has come to understand in his three years of serving food to fishermen and wreck divers, refer to the coordinates of a fishing spot, often a wreck.  Shipwrecks make for excellent fishing, and their coordinates are closely guarded secrets by fishermen, whose livelihood depends on them.  ‘New numbers’ likely means Niall got an insider tip, or possibly traded with another captain. 

“It’s probably nothing,” says Liam. “What’s the deal, Ni?”

“No clue, but it’s definitely not nothing,” says Niall, blue-green eyes wide.  “They’ve no idea what’s down there.  Captain’s been going there a few seasons, finally got curious.  It’s a rough spot though, and it’s deep.  Real deep.” 

“Who’d you get it from?  Not Sheeran, I hope.  He’s always got us divin’ for rubbish.”  

“Can’t tell you that,” Niall says, shrugging. “But he’s acting a bit funny about it. I think he’s burstin’ to know what’s down there, if you want the truth.  Dangerous spot.  Right off a ledge.”

“Probably a bunch of rocks,” says Liam. “Well, we can’t go today anyway, we’re so close to wrapping up the _Mariana._ Got to check on my seahorses.”

“You and those fucking seahorses,” Louis mutters, stabbing his eggs.  Zayn fans some tomato slices around Liam’s omelet and slides the plate to him.

“Thanks,” says Liam with a heart-stopping grin. Zayn smiles back, trying to keep it from spreading too wide and goofy across his face. 

“Can I get a coffee?” Niall asks, distracted by a huge map he’s unfolding.  Sometimes Zayn feels like Niall doesn’t like him much, although he’s not sure why. 

“Sure,” he says, reaching for what he hopes is a clean cup.  They all seem to have speckles this morning.  He makes a mental note to tell Harry off later. 

“Aw, come on Liam, we can finish the _Mariana_ tomorrow.  This is real stuff!  We’re wreck divers, not bloody ecologists.“

“Speak for yourself!” says Liam, shooting Zayn an amused look. Zayn tries and fails to hide his giggle. “It’s an excellent contract, and we’re lucky to have gotten it.  We’re going to see it through.” 

“I don’t even know you anymore,” says Louis with half-joking disgust.  “We’ve got new numbers, could be some massive virgin wreck, and all you care about is playing with your goddamn seahorses.  I miss the old Liam. Before you got all adult and boring.”

“I don’t think you’re boring, Liam,” says Niall loyally.  Zayn hands him a coffee, and he grunts a thanks without meeting his eyes. 

“He is.  Seahorses all day, then he goes home and stares at tubes of dirt all night. We used to be real-life pirates, now we’re ignoring a new dive site to take pictures of underwater worms!”

Liam shrugs again with a mouthful of omelet. “We can go after we finish. Maybe Friday.”

Zayn turns away to hide his frown. He’s happy that they’re succeeding, particularly because of that unpleasant stretch of time early in the contract when Liam seemed to take every setback as a personal failure. But Zayn likes the nature job, because it means Liam and Louis come in at least three times a week.

It’s more unpredictable when they’re doing salvage dives.  Sometimes they don’t come in for weeks at a time, sometimes even a month or two.  Not to mention the fact that it’s incredibly dangerous. Zayn would be lying if he said he didn’t jerk awake some nights with his heart pounding in his throat, unable to stop seeing Liam tangled up and drowning in the deep, dark silence.

“Your buddy, with the coordinates – he asked for us, specifically?” Louis asks Niall, pointedly ignoring Liam.

“Well, you’re the best,” says Niall simply. 

“Damn right,” says Louis.  It’s actually true.  Liam and Louis are somewhat of a local legend as wreck divers go. They’re the youngest divers ever to be recognized nationally for the artifacts they recovered from the _Andrea Doria_ , one of the most dangerous wrecks in the world. 

Zayn has a picture in his apartment of a 20 year-old Liam in a black wetsuit, hair plastered to his forehead and an earsplitting grin, holding up a chipped plate in one hand and a wine glass in the other. Liam gave it to him last winter, just before he and Louis left for some months-long salvage work in the Caribbean. Sometimes Zayn uses it as a bookmark.

“We’re under contract,” Liam reminds Louis patiently, cutting his tomato slices into quarters and sprinkling them lightly with salt.  “We can’t just decide not to go today because we don’t feel like it.  It’s against regulations.” 

“The Navy has too many regulations, I can’t keep track of em,” says Louis. 

“Weather’s gonna be rough Friday,” says Niall. “Here, look at this,” he leans over to point something to Louis on the map, voice dropping too low for Zayn to hear. Zayn grabs Louis’ empty plate, throwing it in the sink to wash later.  Liam is smiling cheerfully at him when he turns around. 

“How’s the artwork going?” he asks. About a month ago, Zayn had been asked to contribute a piece to the new gallery opening in the city. He’s surprised Liam remembers. Zayn shrugs, trying to hide how pleased he is.

“It’s alright, I guess.  Well, I’ve hit a bit of a dead end honestly. I tried something new and it kinda backfired.”

“I’m sure it’s quite nice,” Liam says, “I mean, you’ve been working on it for ages, yeah?”

“That doesn’t mean it’s any good,” Zayn says with a rueful laugh. 

“When’s the art show again?” 

“Three weeks,” says Zayn.  “I’ve got three weeks to somehow turn it into something people might actually enjoy looking at.” 

“I’ll bet it’s brilliant,” says Liam with certainty, nodding. “I’ve seen your sketches, they’re sick.” Zayn can feel a humiliating blush spreading across his cheeks and he turns quickly away from Liam, mumbling about coffee.  He refills Louis first, then Liam, splashing a little over the side. 

“Ah shit, sorry,” he grabs the rag from the sink, but Liam’s already sopping it up with his napkin. 

“No worries,” he says, tilting his eyes up to Zayn’s. “Look, about your art show, do you think I could –“

“Pay attention, Payne!” Louis snaps, punching him lightly on the shoulder.  “Niall’s going over the summer dive route and you can’t even bother to look. God, one fish-kissing job and it’s like you just don’t give a shit anymore.”  Liam gives Zayn an apologetic smile and leans over the map with them, slinging a casual arm over Niall’s shoulder. 

Zayn can’t help a quiet sigh, turning on the faucet over the plates, wishing Louis wasn’t such an impatient little drama queen. What was Liam going to ask him? Now he’ll probably never know. Although maybe he was gonna ask if he could get a ticket for his girlfriend or something, and Zayn wouldn’t be able to think of an excuse in time, and then he’d have to spend the whole night avoiding her 

It’s getting lighter outside now, moon still higher than the sun in the half-dark sky, but most of the fishing boats already untied and cast off.  The overnight fishermen would be coming in soon for plates of eggs and sausage before they stomp back to their homes to sleep. 

“We’ve got to get moving,” Liam says. “Let’s rework the route over lunch. I don’t think it’s smart to do the _Pinkerton_ this year, not after that guy drowned off Ed’s boat last summer.”  They’re talking about the tourist wreck dives, Zayn realizes. The tours don’t usually start until mid-May, but every year Louis starts trying to fill up the schedule as early as possible. 

“Gotta do the _Pinkerton_ , mate!  It’s a huge draw. People come here just for that!”

“Too risky,” says Liam, standing up and throwing some money on the counter.  “Maybe advanced divers only.  I don’t know. We’ll talk it over.” Zayn’s about to wish them luck when Liam’s phone goes off, a musical series of shrill little beeps 

“Ugh,” says Louis.  “When are you going to get a smartphone like a normal person?”

“Shut up,” says Liam, squinting at the screen and holding the phone up to his ear.  “Hello?”

He turns away from them, listening, until finally he exclaims, “Oh no!  That’s terrible.” Louis watches him impatiently, drumming his hands on the counter.  Liam’s face is falling further by the second. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Shh,” says Liam, still listening. Finally, he hangs up the phone with a grimace.

“It’s that goddamn storm last night – there’s some damage to the _Mariana_. Apparently there’s debris coming onshore and everything – I knew this was gonna happen!  The way they sunk it sideways like that, I mean, what were they thinking?”

“Whoa, wait a second,” says Louis, a slow grin spreading across his face. 

“They’re sending a crew out to repair some of the damage.  I warned them about this at the start of the project!  You remember, don’t you?  I said, one bad storm and it’s gonna break apart, at least a few pieces –“

“Aw Payno,” says Niall, one hand on Liam’s arm. Liam’s jaw is tight with disappointment. “I mean, it won’t set us back that far, but the next few days are pretty much shot.  I can’t believe this.”

“So that means,” says Louis, voice rising in excitement, “this means we can’t do the seahorses today.  That’s what it means, right?” 

Liam heaves a sigh.  “No seahorses.  Not for a few days, I expect.” 

Louis leaps off his stool with a piercing victory cry. “This is an act of god!”

“So you’re going to dive that new site?” Zayn asks, unable to help himself.  He holds wreck diving with a mixture of fear and awe, always fascinated by the tidbits of history Louis and Liam bring back from their trips.  The artifacts come at a price, though.  Hundreds of divers die each year wreck diving, many of their bodies never found. 

“I don’t know,” says Liam at the same time that Louis practically shouts “Absolutely!”

“Hold on,” says Liam, “we don’t know anything about it. It’s probably just rocks and rubbish. And my strobe light’s still broken from last season.  How deep is it, would you guess?”

“About two-fifty, maybe,” says Niall contemplatively. “Maybe deeper.”

“Wow,” says Liam softly, biting his lip. He looks torn. Something passes between he and Louis, some wordless communication in the form of eyebrow lifts and head tilts, small hand gestures.  Finally Liam smiles, and shrugs.  “Fine,” he says. “But if it turns out to be a pile of rocks, you owe me dinner.” 

“Yes!” screeches Louis, pumping his fists in the air. Niall’s grinning ear-to-ear as well. “I’ll be on the boat, lads,” he says, pushing out of the door. 

“Wait, I’m coming too,” Louis calls, following him out, yelling “Bye Zayn!” over his shoulder.  Zayn gives a little wave.  Liam’s frowning absently, slipping the phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

“I knew this was gonna happen,” he says. “With the _Mariana_ , I mean.  They were quite sloppy about how they sunk it.  This could delay things for us a few days or a few weeks.  It was so avoidable.”

“I’m sorry,” says Zayn, although secretly he’s not that sorry at all.  Liam shrugs, and then gives him that bright little half-smile that always stabs Zayn’s heart like a needle.

“It’s alright.  Lou's right, we’re wreck divers.  Nothing compares to a new site.” He looks a bit wistful though.   

Zayn shrugs.  “Unless it’s a bunch of rocks and rubbish.”

“Unless it’s rocks and rubbish,” Liam agrees. “Which it probably is, but at least a nice dive will calm Louis down.  I’ll see you later, Zayn.  Working tonight as well?”

“No, I’m off at four.”

“Ah well, see you tomorrow morning then?” He gives a little wave, starting to walk out the door.

“Please be careful,” says Zayn, before he can stop himself.  Liam half-turns and smiles as he pushes the door open, the pale morning light casting beautiful shadows across his cheekbones. 

“Always am.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is a terrible employee, Liam gets some bad news, and Zayn may or may not have a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the sweet comments and stuff, guys <3

Harry’s late, as usual.  He waltzes in around eleven with his hair yanked back in a messy bun, showing off his chest tattoos in a flowy, floral-print top that Zayn’s repeatedly asked him not to wear to work.  He breezes past the counter and pinches Zayn on the bum.  

“Ouch,” says Zayn, pointedly looking at his watch. Harry doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Oh Zayn,” he says, pulling himself up onto the counter, “I had the best night.  I know you’ve been dying to hear about it.”  

“Not true.  You’re late again,” says Zayn.  “I had to do the tourist shift all by myself.”  

“What, you got mobbed?  Did all three of them come in at once?” Harry laughs. Zayn gives him a dark look. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says Harry, meeting Zayn’s glower with a dazzling smile.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I’ll stay late. I’ll clean the bathrooms. You hate doing the bathrooms.” It’s true.  Zayn does hate doing the bathrooms. 

“Fine, but get off the counter,” he grumbles. It’s impossible to stay mad at Harry. “Slow day anyway. Probably won’t be much of a lunch crowd.” 

“Did the divers come in today?” Harry asks, giving Zayn a little smirk. 

“Yes,” says Zayn brusquely, turning away to wash his hands.  “Can you refill the vinegars?  I’ve been busy doing the washing up.  Whoever closed last night didn’t wash a single cup.  Wonder who that was.”  Harry ignores him, grinning cheerfully. 

“So you saw Leeeeyum?” he asks, teasing Zayn’s accent. “Was he talking about his seahorses?” 

“Yes and yes,” says Zayn.  Harry’s smirk widens.  “Stop giving me that look!”  

“Oh Leeyum,” Harry grabs the nearest bottle of malt vinegar off a table and fixes it with a soulful stare.  “Tell me more about how to make a tie-off line secure. Ooh, I’m so scared of the ocean, hold me!” 

“Shut up,” says Zayn, blushing hard. “I don’t even – I should never have told you anything.”  He hadn’t been able to help himself.  It had slipped out once with the last dregs of a shared bottle of whiskey, and now he’s never going to hear the end of it.    

“You were right to tell me,” Harry says wisely. “Besides, I figured it out on my own, it’s not like you’re subtle about it.  Your jaw practically falls on the floor every time he walks in.” 

“No it doesn’t,” Zayn mutters, stocking silverware with more force than necessary.  “This is unfair.  You’re infinitely more embarrassing than me.  How come I can’t tease you about Louis?” 

Harry shrugs, unscrewing the lid of the malt vinegar and topping it off.  “Because you’ve got no material.  We’re madly in love. You probably dream of going on double dates with us.” 

“Something is wrong in your brain, Styles. You’ve gone out with him, what, three times? I have second-hand embarrassment for you.” 

“I’m not embarrassed at all,” Harry says happily, replacing the cap of the vinegar bottle.  He gives it a quick kiss and waggles his eyebrows horribly at Zayn. “I love my life. You’re clearly just jealous, which I completely understand.  Did Lou say anything about me this morning?” 

“Just refill the damn bottles,” says Zayn.   

“Did he mention he brought me home with him?” 

“He did.  Quite awkward, actually.”  

“What?” Harry almost drops the bottle. “What did he say?” Zayn smirks, happy to have the upper hand. 

“Not telling until you’ve done the refills. I’ve done my fair share of work around here.  I’m going on break.” 

He takes off his apron and sits at the corner booth, taking out his sketchbook and studiously ignoring Harry’s whining. Finally Harry slides into the booth opposite him.  “Done,” he announces happily, trying to peek at Zayn’s drawing.  “Tell me.”  

Zayn furrows his brow at the doodle, dissatisfied. Every time the pen touches paper his mind flies to the studio where his gallery piece sits like a time bomb, misshapen and horrible.  “Hmph,” he mutters. His mind tries to wander from there to Liam’s cheerful encouragement earlier, and he mentally smacks it away. 

“Zayn, tell me what he said!” Harry clutches his arm impatiently.  Zayn rolls his eyes.   

“He implied that you two had a nice time last night.”   

“That’s all?” squeals Harry indignantly. 

“Heavily implied.”  

“I can’t believe you.  Tricking me into manual labor under false pretenses!”

“Harry, it’s your job.  You’ll just have to tell me yourself.” 

“No compliments?  Nothing?” 

“Don’t take it to heart, Hazza, he was distracted this morning.  Something happened to their science boat and they couldn’t work on it today.” 

“That would just make him happy,” says Harry. “He hates the science boat. He’s told me at length. Where are they, then? And where are we going on our double date tonight?”   

“Exploring some terrible new depths of the ocean, I expect,” says Zayn, trying to think of an adequate subject change that does not involve a double date with Liam Payne.  There’s only one thing that will distract Harry.  “Alright, so tell me about it.  Where’d you go with the famous Louis Tomlinson?” 

“To heaven,” Harry says, staring fondly over Zayn’s shoulder.  “To the cinema. We saw that new film about the robots. Louis licked the popcorn butter off my fingers.  It was so hot.”

“That’s actually really gross.” 

“Then we took a moonlight walk by the water, and he threw a crab on me and it got tangled in my hair.” 

“Romantic.” 

“Very,” Harry says dreamily.  “Then we went back to his, and before we even got through the door he’s already kissing me with his hands like, completely up under my shirt, all rough and sloppy –“ 

“Harry, please, no details, we’ve discussed this—“ 

“Sorry, sorry, okay but so we get upstairs and he’s pushing me backwards on the bed, and I’m trying to get his trousers off –“ 

“Harry!” 

“No, it’s important to the story! You’ll like this part. So, trousers are off, we’re just getting into it, right, and guess who shows up?”

“The police,” Zayn guesses. 

“Wrong!  It was your boyfriend, shouting about pebbles or something. So random!  It was like two in the morning.  Louis was furious.  Thought they were gonna have a fistfight with me half naked on the bed.  Brilliant.” 

“Kinky,” Zayn mutters.  “And Liam’s not my boyfriend.  Stop saying that.” 

“But you want him to be,” Harry says under his breath, smiling.  

Zayn ignores it.  “I actually did hear a version of that story.  Less nudity, though, which I appreciated.” 

Harry remains dreadfully undistracted. “At least admit it to yourself, Zayn. You’ll feel a lot better if you do.”

“I said I used to have a crush on him. Now I don’t.  There’s nothing else to admit.”    

“You still do. You think he’s sexy.” 

“Whatever.”

“Say it.  You already told me once, what’s the big deal?” 

“No!  Why are you doing this to me?”  

Harry flutters his eyelashes nauseatingly. “Because I love you and I’m helping you come to terms with your feelings.”

“I don’t need help with that. I'm very in touch with myself.  Stop talking to me and get back to work.” 

“I’ll stop when you admit you wanna kiss him all over.” 

“Shut up, Harry.  Even if I did, which I don’t, he’s not even – he’s got a girlfriend, you know that,” Zayn mutters, staring at his ink-splotchy hands. 

“A girlfriend who doesn’t even live around here, who nobody's ever seen. Are we sure she’s real?”

“Quit it, Harry.”  

Harry shrugs cheerfully.  “I’m just saying, people break up all the time, you never know. Maybe you should just tell him what you told me at Brannigan’s about how you want to run your hands all over his big muscley—”  

“Please stop,” Zayn groans.  “Please.  Stop.” 

“Zayn Payne,” Harry says very quietly.

“You’re fired.”  

“Honestly, I’m starting to understand why you like him so much.  Guy’s a neat freak, just like you. Their house is exquisitely clean.” 

“I see,” Zayn says with pointed disinterest, sliding out of the booth.  A neat house is definitely not a huge turn-on for him.  Nope, he doesn’t care about that at all. 

“You ought to come over with me next time,” Harry continues.  “They’ve got random stuff from shipwrecks set up everywhere, like all these dishes and whale bones and random metal things, it’s so cool.”  

“And watch you and Louis make out the whole time? I don’t think so,” Zayn mutters. He’d made it most of the morning without thinking about Liam and his big dumb gorgeous smile. He doesn’t need this. Harry is a menace. 

He bites back his desire to hear more about Liam’s clean house and grabs a dishrag, tossing it to Harry.

“Wipe the tables, Casanova,” he says. “I’m going out for a cigarette. And if someone comes in, let them know we don’t have fruit salad today.”  

“I’m only wiping them if they’re dirty!” Harry calls after him, but Zayn pretends not to hear, opening the back door and stepping out into the sunlight. 

The air is fresh and salty, and tinged with only a hint of garbage from the dumpster nearby.  It’s a lovely day.  Zayn can see the ocean from where he’s sat on two stacked-up crates, shining and flat as glass. The squeals of children running around on the beach echo up the boardwalk.  

He lights his cigarette and sits back against the bricks, savoring the smoke in his lungs.  He’s down to three a day, so he has to make them count. He wonders idly how the dive is going, if they found anything or if it really was, as Liam predicted, “rocks and rubbish.”  

The first time he met Liam was actually in the parking lot of the hardware store across the street, almost exactly a year ago. Liam had run directly into Zayn, nearly toppling them both over. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Liam had exclaimed, getting all pink and flustered, as though it was Zayn's bags that had spilled all over the gravel instead of his own.  Zayn helped him pick it all up – domestic items, wash rags, a tape measure, a glossy handbook about blue crabs. Liam shook his hand, warm and firm, and his eyes reflected the sun in a way that made Zayn feel a little weak. 

“I’m Liam,” he’d said.  “Just moved here.  Know any good places to get a sandwich?” 

Zayn invited him to the diner, where he learned three important things about Liam: 

  1.      He had just finished his degree in marine biology
  2.      He was joining his friend Louis in town to give dive tours over the summer
  3.      He had the warmest, most disarming smile that Zayn had ever seen in his life, and it was quickly becoming problematic.



It was only later, after some Google sleuthing, that he learnt who Liam really was: one of the best wreck divers in the world, along with his dive partner Louis.  Together they’d swept the dangerous sport as teenagers, breaking records left and right, pulling off stunts that veteran divers didn’t dare.   Zayn had scrolled through the articles with his heart in his throat, amazed.  The underwater wreck photos gave him the creeps.  He couldn’t imagine being down there alone.

It wasn’t long before reading articles about Liam became an embarrassing late-night habit for Zayn when he couldn’t sleep. He learnt about his childhood, trawling for lobsters with his uncles, and his sponsored trip to Australia at age sixteen to dive a highly publicized cruise shipwreck.  He’d gotten an award for that. 

One night he came across an article about a friend of Liam’s who drowned while they were diving together. Liam had risked his life to save his friend, but it was too late – something went wrong, and the boy died on the way to the hospital.  It was dated five years ago. 

Zayn pieced together that Liam hadn’t entered another wreck for years afterwards.  Liam had even mentioned it off-handedly a few times, talking about his “break” from diving while he was working on his degree.  He made it seem so casual, and Zayn felt awkward and creepy for knowing the truth.

It explains a lot though, Zayn thinks now. Liam’s caution, his insistence on following every rule to the absolute letter, his exasperation when Louis tried to go off-book.  He’d felt an odd surge of pride when he considered that Liam was diving again now – he was clearly born for it, it was in his blood – even after what happened. He never asked about it.

How’s their dive going today? Zayn wonders. He tries not to think about what it would be like that far under the water, deep and cold, total darkness. Liam will be fine, he tells himself. He’s a professional.

Zayn finishes his cigarette and pitches it in the bucket that serves as their bin.  He can hear Harry clattering around through the open door, singing to himself. No customers, then. Not surprising – tourist season never really picks up until later in the spring. Midsummer through early fall is the most lucrative time, and the town is all but dead the rest of the year. 

He leaves the door propped open when he goes back inside.  The breeze feels calming as it wafts through the diner.  The rest of the day goes fairly quickly, a few customers here and there. Harry melts the handle of Zayn’s favorite spatula trying to make a double decker grilled cheese. Zayn nearly loses a finger trying to fix the temperamental espresso machine. Around three, a group of sunburnt sailors come in for a beer, and Harry flirts obnoxiously with the youngest one.

“I’m surprised they didn’t beat you up,” says Zayn, shaking his head.  “You’re insane.” 

“Beat me up?  They loved me, look at this tip they left,” Harry gloats, waving the bills in front of Zayn. 

“Better hope your boy doesn’t find out,” says Zayn, taking the drawer out of the register to begin his end of shift count. “That guy would crush Louis like a spider.” 

“Hmm,” Harry ponders.  “Well, it’s not official with me and Lou, so I’m assuming I can do whatever I want.  That’s how it works, right?”

“Harry, you’re twenty-three, I can’t tell you how your own life works.  Look, I’m taking off, gotta get to the studio.”  He unties his apron and stashes it under the cabinet.  

“Good luck,” says Harry.  “Brannigan’s tonight?” 

“I dunno.  Maybe.”

“Eight o clock,” says Harry.  “Be there.”  

“I probably won’t.  You know I have to be back here at like 5am, right?” 

“But it's Saturday!  

"I'm still scheduled to work."

"Yuck,” says Harry, wrinkling his nose.  "I'm off tomorrow.  I'm going on a picnic."  

“Yuck indeed,” Zayn agrees.  “Don’t forget to turn off the grill.  And lock up!  Bye Hazza.”

“Bye!  See you tonight!” 

“I'm not coming!” Zayn calls over his shoulder as he pushes out into the sidewalk.  Clouds have gathered over the course of the day, and it looks like another storm might be imminent.  The sea is choppy and grey, and the wind has a chilly bite to it.  Zayn slips on his black zip-up.  

To be honest, there’s nothing he wants to do less than go to the studio.  Even the thought of trying to work on his piece fills him with nervous despair. He’s so screwed. Maybe he should just call Kimmi from the gallery and say he can’t contribute this time.  But what if they never ask him again?  What if this is his only chance? 

“Hey!” Someone taps him on the shoulder. Zayn whirls around, startled. It’s Liam, eyes laughing, both hands held up in supplication.

“Sorry,” he says.  “Did I scare you?” 

“No,” says Zayn quickly, taking off his headphones. Liam’s sweaty and pink-cheeked, dressed in sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt that says Wolverhampton Wanderers. He looks like he’d been jogging. “Hi.  Uh.  How’s it going? How was the dive?” 

“Eh, I didn’t go, actually,” says Liam. “Louis and a few guys from the diving club went.” 

“Oh,” says Zayn, not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.  Liam’s expression is neutral, lips set. 

“Yeah, I ended up having a meeting with some of the Navy committee.  We had to talk about how this damage is gonna affect the project.”

“Is everything alright?" 

“Not really,” Liam admits, scuffing one foot against the sidewalk.  “They want everything wrapped up by the end of the month, no matter what’s going on with the project." 

“Is that enough time?”

“No, not even close,” says Liam. “Not if the ship’s falling apart, which it basically is.  They’ll need to repair it, which is gonna take at least a week, and we’d have to keep a close eye on things throughout the summer.  To be honest, I think they want to cut their losses now and try again next spring.  So things aren’t looking good for us.”  He gives a sad little laugh. Zayn wants to hug him. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says instead. Liam shrugs. 

“The funding was always pretty shaky,” he says. “It’s not a big deal. Plus, we’ve still got a month. Things could change.” 

“I’m sure you’ll turn it around,” Zayn says firmly. Liam gives him a grateful smile.

“Headed home?”

“Yeah,” says Zayn.  “I was gonna go to the studio, but – I – didn’t.  Long day.” 

Liam laughs.  “I can relate.  Mind if I walk with you?”

“Go ahead,” Zayn says with what he hopes is a casual shrug.  The streets seem subtly different with Liam beside him, even as they pass the cinema and the old library where Zayn used to stay all day after school reading comics. Maybe Zayn is just way too aware of Liam strolling next to him, hands in his pockets, surveying the skies.

“I’m surprised Louis hasn’t texted yet,” Liam says. “It’s probably getting pretty nasty out there.  The weather is always worse at sea.”

“Is it?” asks Zayn.  “I wouldn’t know.”  

Liam tilts his head at Zayn with a little smile. “Come on, you grew up here. Probably know more about sailing than I do.” 

“Uh, no,” says Zayn, desperately willing himself not to blush.  “I’ve actually only been on a boat, like, twice.” 

“Really?” Liam asks.  They turn down Zayn’s street, which is lined with towering oak trees still half-bare from winter.  “How come?”

“Don’t like water,” mumbles Zayn. He knew this would happen eventually, but it’s still embarrassing.  Part of him hoped he’d never have to admit to Liam Payne, patron saint of diving, that he’s basically terrified of the ocean.  At least he managed to avoid it for an entire year. 

“Huh, never would’ve guessed,” says Liam. “Well, maybe you’ve just never been on the right boat.  Should take you out on the _Explorer_ one of these days when we’re not working.  It’s so beautiful out there, bet you’d love it.” 

“Um, maybe,” says Zayn, heart fluttering. He tries to imagine himself on their rickety little schooner out in the middle of the ocean and his stomach does a backflip.  Liam gives him a big smile.  

“It would be a lot of fun.”  

It would be the furthest thing from fun, but Zayn nods with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.  It’s started to rain now, just a light drizzle. They’re in front of Zayn’s apartment.

“This is me,” says Zayn.  But Liam’s not looking at him, he’s squinting down at his phone. 

“Holy shit,” he says.  

“What’s wrong?”  

“It’s the guys, they’re – Louis said they found something big.  In all caps.”

“What is it?” 

“He won’t tell me.  He’s making me wait.  What a bastard.” 

“He is,” Zayn agrees with a little laugh. He puts his hood up against the rain. Liam doesn’t seem to notice it.

“I think he’s trying to get back at me for not diving. He doesn’t like it when I – ah, it doesn’t matter. I wonder what they found. Probably just a really big pile of rocks and he’s trying to get me riled up.”  

“A really big garbage dump,” guesses Zayn, wondering what Liam had stopped himself from saying.  Liam laughs, flipping his phone shut and sliding it back into his pocket.

“That’s a good guess.  Louis is intolerable.  Always has been.  Says I have to meet the guys at Brannigan’s if I want in on this ‘once in a lifetime opportunity’.”

“Harry was trying to get me to come to Brannigan’s tonight too,” Zayn blurts out.

“Oh really?  You should.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your secret divers’ meeting,” says Zayn.  Liam bursts out laughing again.  He looks far too cute with the mist curling his hair at the edges. 

“Nothing secret about it.  Just gonna be Louis and Niall doing shots and fighting over things that happened five years ago.  Actually, I understand if you don’t want to come.  I’m boring myself just talking about it.”

“No, I – I’ll come,” says Zayn. Liam is standing very close to him. He smells like laundry soap and pine needles.  Zayn feels a little light-headed.  Liam bites his lower lip, smiling.  His eyes are excruciatingly warm. 

“Oh okay, great.  Well I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Yeah,” says Zayn.  “I’m gonna – go inside.  Wet.”  Oh god, why is he always so awkward?  This is horrible.

“Okay,” says Liam, with another little smile. “Bye Zayn.” 

“Bye,” Zayn calls over his shoulder as he jogs up to the front door, fumbling with his keys.  It’s not until he’s inside the foyer that he looks back outside at Liam, walking back down the street with his hands in his pockets. Zayn can make out his tattoo even from this distance, thick black chevrons running up his arm. He huffs out a big breath, leaning his forehead against the cool glass.

“Be cool,” he tells himself.  “It’s just friends hanging out, nothing to be nervous about. It’s not a date. Be cool.”

*** 

“You have a date!” Harry yells so loudly that Zayn has to hold the phone away from his ear.  “I can’t believe this!” 

“Oh my god,” says Zayn, pressing his hand over his eyes.  “Harry. Calm down.  It’s definitely not a date.  You’re going to be there, for one.”  

“You’re right – it’s a _double_ date!  My prophecy is coming true! What are you gonna wear? Can I come over and dress you?” 

“No,” says Zayn.  “Stop shouting.”  

“How about that black sweater with the silver buttons,” Harry suggests.  “You look good in that.  You look fuckable.”

“Oh my _god_ Harry, I’m not trying to look fuckable!  It’s not a date!” 

“I’m wearing a black sweater too. We’ll match.”  

“I don’t want to match with you. I’m hanging up.”

“No no wait!  Tell me the rest of what happened.  So he walked you home, and then what?” 

“I already told you.  Louis texted him about going to Brannigan’s, and I mentioned, uh, that we might go, and he said we should all go together. It was no big deal.” 

“So . . . like . . . a date,” Harry says. “Interesting how you said you weren’t going out tonight.”  Zayn can actually see the infuriating grin on his face as though he were in the room. 

“I changed my mind.  People do that sometimes.  Look, what time are you going?  Eight?”

“Yep.  Meet you by the tree?”  

“Sure.”  

“Double date night!” Harry yells and hangs up. Zayn throws the phone down onto his pillow and drags both hands through his hair.  

It’s _not_ a date, no matter what Harry says.  There are five hundred reasons it’s not a date, starting with the fact that Liam has a girlfriend.  Not to mention, he probably doesn’t even like guys at all.  And even if he did, why the hell would he like _Zayn_? They’re just friends. Good friends.  

Zayn rifles through his clothes until he finds the black sweater Harry mentioned.  Harry is right about one thing: it does look good on him.  Not that he’s trying to look any particular way. He spends an hour trying to get his hair to look normal, singing along to the radio with increasing desperation. When he finally checks his phone, he has about ten missed texts from Harry: 

**Double date!!!**

**Am not wearing blk sweater too scratchy**

**Still wear yours though~ sexy**

**Rum &coke is on special tonight at bran’s PARTY** **TIME**

**Do u think Louis wld like my hair in ponytails**

**will you wear ponytails so we match?**

**Zayn???**

A picture message pops up of Harry with his hair pulled into double ponytails, giving the camera a coy look.  “Oh lord,” says Zayn.  He has one more text, and his stomach jumps a little when he sees the name.

**hi zayyyn am headed over now hope youre still comingg :)**

**Yes be there around 8 x** , he types, pressing send before he has time to overthink it. Liam has only ever texted him a handful of times, usually talking about new music he likes. Or pictures of fish. It’s embarrassing how long it normally takes Zayn to think of an adequate response.  

Almost immediately his phone buzzes:

**Yayyy see you soon !!**

Zayn stares at himself in the mirror, trying not to freak out.  Is Liam excited to see him, or just excited in general?  Does he look fuckable?  Does it matter?  Why is his hair still sticking straight up after he spent an hour trying to fix it? What shoes should he wear? He finally chooses scuffed-up desert boots that look amazing with his black jeans but won’t do much to keep out the rain.  Maybe it’s stopped raining. Rain would ruin his hair further, as well.  Oh god. Maybe he just shouldn’t go. His phone buzzes again several times in quick succession: 

**Zayn where r u**

**Always late**

**I am leaving w/o you in 2 mins**

**Gonna tell liam you love him**

**Chill out I’m on my way,** he texts back.  No turning back now.  He grabs a jacket and examines his hair in the mirror one more time.  It looks alright.  Disheveled. Casual.  Perfect for an unromantic lads’ night at the pub. Not a date. Be cool.  

It’s not raining anymore, thankfully. Harry’s slouching against the tree with his arms crossed, curls loose around his face instead of Miley Cyrus’d up.

They’ve been meeting here since they were ten, when they used to walk to school together.  Nervous as Zayn feels, there’s something soothing and solid about Harry leaning against the tree and waving at him. 

“Come on, we’re late,” he says impatiently, grabbing Zayn’s arm and tugging him along.  “Lou’s been texting me for half an hour.”

“He’ll survive,” says Zayn. 

Harry gives him a megawatt smile. “You look great. You smell like gingerbread. I’m so glad you’re coming. This is gonna be wild.”

“Yep,” Zayn agrees weakly.  “Wild.”  He’s so screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The divers reveal their discovery, and Liam reveals a bit more than that. Zayn goes out of his comfort zone with unexpected results.

Brannigan’s has been around since as long as anybody can remember, and probably far longer than that.  The booths are dimly-lit and sticky with a permanent smell of saltwater and unfiltered cigarettes.  Black and white pictures of people nobody alive has ever met line the walls. The bartender, a surly, tattooed man called Pete, openly despises all patrons without bias. 

But the drinks are strong, and it’s preferable by far to the only other pub in town – Silky’s – which features day-glo plastic crabs dangling from the ceiling and an unbearable reggae band each weekend during tourist season.  It’s an unspoken but ironclad rule that tourists drink at Silky’s, and townies drink at Brannigan’s. 

“Hiya Peter,” Harry chirps, sidling up to the bar. He looks like a butterfly. Pete’s probably gonna throw them out before they even get a drink.  It’s happened before. 

Zayn’s trying not to be too obvious as he looks around for the divers.  The bar is filled with sailors and fishermen, muscled men with thick eyebrows and cigarettes clamped permanently in the corners of their mouths.  He finally spots them in the back corner, almost fully obscured by the thick cloud of cigar smoke wafting up from a nearby table. Liam’s sitting with his back to the bar but Zayn can see his hands flying around as he talks animatedly. 

Pete grunts, eyeing Harry’s patterned tunic. “Two rum specials please,” says Harry with a dazzling smile.  He may or may not be wearing a fancy curtain drawstring around his neck, Zayn can’t tell. He still looks gorgeous, which seems unfair.

“Harry, I have to ask, are you wearing a _string_ as a necklace?” 

“It’s a neck tassel,” Harry says, injured. “It’s very stylish. Thought you of all people would know that.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Zayn, taking the drink Pete slams down on the bar.  “I didn’t realize neck tassels were back in fashion.”   

“Louis likes it,” Harry says primly. “Last night he said I look like a model.” 

“You look like a lamp,” says Zayn, but his heart isn’t in it.  He’s too nervous. He takes a fortifying sip of his drink. It’s far more rum than coke, and he relishes the burn against the back of his throat.  Harry grabs his own drink, sliding a few bills across the bar. 

“Keep the change,” he says, and actually _winks_.  Pete’s definitely going to throw them out. “Alright, where are our dashing divers?” 

“Over there,” Zayn points, and immediately regrets it. “Wait, Harry, before we – please don’t say anything about, like, you know – just be cool, yeah?” 

Harry gives him a wounded look.  "I'm always cool.  Don't you think I'm cool?"

                                                                                                                                                         

“The coolest,” Zayn agrees feebly, wondering why the hell he even considered doing this.  “Uh, I’m gonna use the – I need to fix my –“ 

“No you don’t,” Harry says, grabbing his arm and hauling him across the room.  There are four of them around the table – Niall and Louis leaned conspiratorially close to each other, Liam with his elbows on the table and a red-haired man Zayn has seen once or twice around town.    

Harry seems knows him quite well. “Ed! Marvelous to see you!” he shouts, launching himself across the booth to give him a loud kiss on the cheek. Zayn looks nervously around to make sure none of the sailors are watching them.  Louis looks disgusted, but puts his arm around Harry anyway. Zayn waves weakly.

“Hi,” he says.  This was clearly a terrible idea.  

Liam swivels in his seat, head tilted up with a smile, and Zayn’s brain goes a little fuzzy.  He’s seen Liam in street clothes plenty of times, but something’s different tonight. It’s his hair, maybe, done up neat and carefully where it usually tumbles soft and wavy over his forehead. He’s wearing jeans and a blue-checked flannel that looks far too good on him.  

“Hi Zayn!” says Liam.  “Here, we’ve got some space.  Sorry, we’ve made a bit of a mess on the table.” Zayn squeezes into the booth next to him.  Niall gives him a sidelong glace but doesn’t say anything.  

Zayn wants some kind of fortifying glance from Harry, but he’s across the table showing Ed something on his phone that’s sending them both into hysterics.  Zayn has a sudden horrible flash of what this night is going to be like. There’s a reason he doesn’t like going out, and it actually has nothing to do with how early he needs to be up. But Liam’s grinning at him. 

“I like your shirt,” he says. “It’s cool.” 

“Thanks,” says Zayn, hiding behind his drink. _You’re cool_ , suggests his brain treacherously.  _You hair is cool. I like your eyes_. He takes a large swig of his drink. It's going to be a long night. 

“Hope we’re not interrupting any top secret dive business,” Harry says cheerfully. 

“Well actually,” says Liam, and Louis shoots him a glare.  

“Shut up.” 

“What, we won’t tell them?  Come on.” 

“Tell us what?” Zayn can practically see Harry’s ears prick up in interest like a cat.  Louis groans.  

“You’re unbelievable, Payno.”

Liam shrugs.  “What’s the big deal?  They can keep their mouths shut, right?”  He glances at Zayn, who nods quickly although he has no idea what they’re talking about.    

“Yeah, for sure.”  

“This is a celebration,” says Ed, tipping his glass in Louis’ direction.  “We made a huge find today.”  

“Massive,” says Niall.  

“What is it?” Harry asks, eyes wide. 

“You’ve got to swear you won’t tell anyone.” Louis gives him an ominous look.  “Swear it on your life.  This is our site, and we don’t want anyone coming ‘round and trying to get in there ahead of us. Understand, Styles?” 

Harry nods solemnly.  “I won’t say a word.  If I do, you can kill me with your bare hands.”  He looks a little too pleased with that prospect. 

Louis turns his glare on Zayn. “You too, Malik. Pain of death. What’s said here doesn’t leave this table.  Capiche?” 

“Sure,” says Zayn, feeling a little ridiculous. He’s always known wreck divers to be slightly fanatical about their discoveries, but solemnly swearing an oath – on pain of death, no less – makes him feel like he’s back in fifth grade about to hear who his older sister has a crush on.  Louis nods, satisfied.

“It’s a sub,” Niall bursts out. “They found a bloody mystery submarine. We can’t get any info on it – there shouldn’t be any subs around here, it’s –“ 

“It’s amazing,” says Louis.  “We’re gonna be fuckin’ famous.  It’s the find of the century.  We just have to identify it.” 

“Wow,” says Zayn, immediately understanding the significance. A virgin wreck is rare enough, but an unidentified submarine?  No wonder they wanted to keep it under wraps for now.  

“I knew there was something weird down there,” says Ed. “I just had a feeling.” Liam laughs. 

“You were finally right, Sheeran,” he says. “Can’t believe I didn’t go.”

“Shouldn’t even have told you about it,” mutters Louis. “Would’ve served you right.” 

“We had to tell him,” says Ed. “He’s the best diver we’ve got. I know he’s gonna be the one to ID it.”

“I dunno, we've got a great team.  Could be anyone's ID,” says Liam.  He glances at Zayn, who realizes suddenly he’s been watching Liam’s mouth as he talked.  He looks quickly away. Now Niall is staring strangely at him. Great.  He wants to make some gesture to show he’s not a total creep, but Niall stands up and shoves his way out of the booth, avoiding eye contact. 

“Alright lads, who wants a drink?” 

“Pints all around,” says Ed.  “On me.  It’s a party!” 

“It is a party,” Harry says, nuzzling up against Louis’ side.  “Hello. Nice to see you.” Louis whispers something in his ear, and Harry goes pink. 

“So you’re going down next time?” Zayn asks Liam. 

“For sure.”  He gives Zayn a big smile that falters as he looks down at the table. “Once in a lifetime chance, yeah?”

“When are you gonna dive it?” 

Liam shrugs.  “When we can find time.  Bit busy with the Navy thing, and charter tours start in a few weeks. Knowing Louis, I’m sure he’ll have us out there as soon as humanly possible.”  He doesn’t look particularly pleased about it. 

Zayn wants to ask what’s wrong, but he bites his tongue.  He’s not even half a drink in and already trying to say more than he should. 

“Correct,” says Louis.  “Tomorrow.  Four a.m. Be there or forever lose your spot.”

"No fuckin' way you're going anywhere at four a.m," Ed laughs, shaking his head. 

Liam looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Niall’s dropping an armful of foaming glasses on the table, beer sloshing over onto the scarred wood.  Ed grabs him and kisses him on the cheek dramatically and Liam’s laughing again, the shadow gone from his eyes. 

All things considered, it’s not as bad as Zayn had expected. It’s actually kind of fun, squished into the booth next to Liam, laughing at nonsense.  The conversation spans from light-hearted banter to old dive stories, studded with lively debate about the identity of the sub. 

After three rounds, Ed and Niall have left to compete in a furious game of pool that seems to involve more swearing and physical violence than anything else.  Liam is quiet, sipping his beer contemplatively.  

“What’s the scariest wreck you’ve gone in?” Harry asks, face half-turned into Louis’ neck.  Louis has an arm tightly around Harry’s shoulder, fingers trailing through his curls. 

“Hmm,” says Louis, eyes upturned and thoughtful. “Well there was one time I almost didn’t make it back.  Payno, d’ya remember that? The _Sea Spirit_?  Oh god, I thought I was a goner.” 

“I remember,” says Liam softly, licking his lips. Zayn tries not to stare. He’s on his third rum and coke and starting to feel it.  

“Wild times,” says Louis. 

“What happened?” Harry asks. 

“Come on, they don’t want to hear this story,” says Liam. 

“Storm,” says Louis, ignoring Liam. “Mortal danger.”

He looks at Liam, like he’s waiting for him to pick up the thread.  Liam keeps his eyes on his beer.  His fingers twitch on the table.  

“What happened?” Zayn asks, unable to help himself. Liam meets his eyes, brown and warm. Fortified by the alcohol, Zayn gives him a small smile, and Liam smiles back.  He’s sitting distractingly close.  The hard line of his thigh presses against Zayn’s leg under the table. 

“It was a long time ago,” he says, staring over Louis’ shoulder.  “We were about two hundred feet down at this old wreck, which is quite deep for those of you who haven’t been diving.” 

“It’s fuckin’ deep as shit,” says Louis, hand moving slyly from Harry’s curls to sneak under the neck of his shirt. “And the Atlantic sucks for diving. Pitch black and freezing. No visibility.” 

“That’s bad, right?” asks Harry, eyes a little unfocused as Louis’s hand creeps down his collarbone. 

“It’s not good.  _Sea Spirit’s_ a tough wreck, tiny little rooms with jagged shit and wires everywhere, creepy as all hell. We’re down there looking for artifacts, Payno’s got the night vision camera rolling, and then suddenly the current snaps up –“

“What’s that mean?” Harry asks, eyes wide as he stares at Louis, who has a proud little smirk on his face. 

“It means we were in big fuckin trouble,” says Louis.

“There was a storm topside,” Liam explains. “It was sudden – I lost my camera, actually, and then I turned around and –“ 

“I was stuck,” says Louis.  “Got tangled, I used up half my tank struggling. Couldn’t see shit. I honestly thought I was gonna die.” 

“Whoa,” says Harry, saucer-eyed. “How’d you get out?”

Louis jerks a thumb at Liam.  “There’s a reason this kid’s my dive partner. He got me cut free completely blind, pulled me out and put my hand right on the anchor line. Goddamn superhero.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” mumbles Liam, a pink blush spreading over his cheeks.  “You would’ve done the same for me.” 

“You don’t know that for sure,” says Louis, but Zayn sees the look that passes wordlessly between them.  He imagines them underwater, moving as one, predicting each other’s motions with telepathic accuracy.   

“How long have you been diving together?” he asks.

“Oh god,” says Louis, “gotta be, what – ten years?” 

“Eleven,” Liam corrects.  “We met when I was thirteen.” 

“Fuck, I’m old,” says Louis.  

“I like older men,” says Harry, giving Louis what he probably thinks is a sneaky bite on the ear.  Louis starts tickling him, pushing him backwards in the booth. It ends, predictably, in a heated makeout session.  Liam raises his eyebrows and gives Zayn a little shrug, like “what can ya do?” 

“Cigarette,” Zayn mumbles, draining the rest of his drink in one gulp.  He slides past Liam and makes his way for the door.  He doesn’t have to go outside to smoke, but it’s hard to think clearly with the combination of alcohol and Liam making his head swim.  He should probably go home soon.  It’s late, and it’s getting harder and harder not to put his hand on Liam’s leg.  He’s had to stop himself from doing it like three times already.  

He leans against the bricks to light up. It’s nice out – the world soft-edged in the orange streetlamp glow, pleasantly fuzzy.  Zayn sighs, unable to help himself. 

It just isn’t fair.  Why is it always so easy for Harry to make people fall all over him?  Boys, girls, anyone – it doesn’t matter.  Harry charms them effortlessly. Zayn’s never had a particular problem when it comes to hook ups, but this is different.  _Liam_ is different. Zayn can’t explain why, and it’s clearly the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, but he’s 100% gone for Liam Payne.  Leave it to Zayn to fall head over heels for a guy that’s never gonna feel the same way. 

He sighs again, louder, because it feels good. Then, because his life is a joke, Liam’s shuffling out the door and with a crooked little smile.  He’s too tall, too handsome, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Sorry,” he says, “followed you out. Didn’t want to be left alone with them.” He eyes Zayn’s cigarette. 

“I don’t blame you,” says Zayn, hoping Liam didn’t hear him being a melodramatic teen.  Be cool. “As long as you’re not gonna tell me how bad smoking is for me.” 

“I’m not,” says Liam.  “Actually, can I have one?”

“I didn’t know you smoke.” Zayn fumbles in his jacket pocket and hands Liam the carton of cigarettes. 

“I don’t,” Liam admits.  “Just been a – long day for me.”  He reaches for Zayn’s lighter.  Their fingers brush, a little spark running up Zayn’s arm from the point of contact. Liam looks way too sexy with his eyes all dark and moody, dressed like he should be slouching against a motorcycle or something.  Zayn feels drunk. He should definitely go home.

“Me too,” he says.  “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes.  No. I don’t know.”

“You’re upset about the seahorses,” Zayn guesses. Liam shrugs with a little smile.

“Well, yeah.  It’s not just that.  But I’m just being dumb.”

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asks softly. Liam shrugs again, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s this sub.  It’s incredible.  It’s a massive discovery. It’s just, it also makes things hard.” Liam says, staring at the sky.  It’s turned into a nice night, clear and calm.  Zayn watches Liam in silence, not sure what to say.   Liam shuffles his feet uncomfortably.  “I don’t know.  Never mind.” 

“No, tell me,” says Zayn.  They’re standing close together, almost shoulder to shoulder. Liam shrugs again. He does that a lot.

“It’s great,” he says finally. “It’s just not great for me. I don’t even want to dive it. But they’re counting on me.” 

“You don’t want to dive it?  You’re like, the best diver in the country,” says Zayn.

“I don’t know,” Liam says quietly. “I’ve been trying so hard to sort of – fade out of that world.  I haven’t told anyone, I didn’t even tell Louis yet, but I was gonna quit doing dive tours after this summer.”

“Really?” Zayn stares at him. Liam watches his feet, the scuffed toes of his high top trainers.  “Why?”

“Well that’s the thing about wreck diving,” he says, running his free hand through his hair,  “it's dangerous.  People die.  And it consumes you.  It started as a hobby, but now it runs my life.  I’m trained in marine conservation, and I – I mean, that’s always what I’ve wanted to do. Ever since I was little. That’s what I love. I want to make a difference, like, with this Navy project – I worked so hard to get that contract, Zayn, you have no idea. And now it’s all falling apart, and who knows when I’ll get another shot.” 

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, downcast eyes and lower lip jutted out. Zayn wants to kiss him.   

“I’m sure you guys will get another contract. I mean, they’re always doing conservation work around here.”   

“It’s not just that, it’s like, when will I get the time? Louis doesn’t understand. He lives for diving. He couldn’t care less about this stuff. I mean, I love it too; I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.  But it’s not what I – oh, I don’t know.  I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”  

“I understand,” says Zayn.  It’s how he feels every day of his life, actually. 

“And now, with this new dive site, it’s like – I should be excited, y’know?  A virgin sub, it’s insane, it’s the chance of a lifetime.  Obviously they’re gonna want to go out every free day we have.”  He scuffs his foot against the ground.  Zayn listens carefully, wishing he could reach out and catch Liam’s dangling fingers.  

“But it leaves no time for – well, anything else. It’s like every time I start to move in a new direction, something gets in the way.  I let things get in the way.”  

“I’m sorry,” says Zayn, wishing he had something more helpful to say.  Liam gives a little laugh, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it.

“No, god, _I’m_ sorry.  You shouldn’t have to listen to me ramble on.” 

“I don’t mind at all.” 

“You’re a nice person,” says Liam, giving Zayn a little smile.  Zayn hesitates, and puts his hand on Liam’s arm.  His flannel is soft, the arm beneath it distractingly firm.  Zayn wants to say something soothing and memorable.  Actually, he wants to grab Liam's face and scream YOU'RE AMAZING! into his mouth until he feels better.   

What comes out is: “I know you'll find a way.  You're a great biologist.” Lame!  God, he’s so lame.  But Liam breaks into a sunny smile.  

“Thank you, Zayn,” he says, like he’s genuinely touched.  “Thanks for listening to me complain.  I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” says Zayn.  He stubs out his cigarette and takes a deep breath. “No, honestly, I understand how you feel.  With the – letting things get in your way, I mean.” 

“Oh yeah?” Liam’s head is tilted towards him, eyes open and curious.  Like he actually cares. 

“Yeah,” says Zayn, resisting the urge to shrink back into himself under Liam’s bright gaze.  “Um.  Like with this gallery thing. It’s huge for me, I’ve never been in a real show before, and I – well, I’ve fucked it all up, haven’t I?”

“Have you?” Liam asks.  “I doubt it.  You’re a brilliant artist.” 

“I’m a fraud,” Zayn mumbles. 

“You’re not!” 

“I am, though.  I haven’t worked on it in ages.  I’m totally stuck.  And it’s like –“ Zayn knows he should be embarrassed but it’s been silently building in him for weeks and he barrels on, unable to stop.  “I can’t even think about it anymore.  Even when I’m alone, it’s like my brain is filled with static. I need to go meditate on a mountaintop or something.”  

“Hmm,” says Liam thoughtfully. 

“Now I feel stupid too,” Zayn admits. 

“No way,” says Liam, brow furrowed. “You’re, like, the least stupid person I’ve ever met.  I think you just need some time away.”  

Zayn’s cheeks flush hot, and he stares determinedly at his shoes until the blush passes.  Liam’s standing close enough that Zayn can feel the warmth radiating off of him. It’s oddly comforting.

“Look, I was thinking,” says Liam, leaning back against the bricks, “I know you don’t like water, but – what if we went sailing? Might help clear your head. It’s really peaceful out there.” 

“Um,” says Zayn, his heart beating faster for no good reason. He doesn’t like water at all but this feels like a dream, here under the sodium lights with Liam, in the soft unreality of midnight. “Sure.  I’d go.”  

“Yeah?  Cool,” Liam gives him a heart-stopping smile.  He drags his cigarette against the bricks and tosses it in the bin. “How about next weekend? If you’ve not got plans.” 

“No plans,” says Zayn, and why the hell is he agreeing to this?  What’s going on? “Do you mean – just us?” 

“Yeah, if that’s alright.  Unless you want Louis and Harry, we could make it like a group thing –“

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Zayn says quickly. Liam’s biting his lower lip. He’s unbearably cute. God, Zayn is so lost.    

“It’s nice and quiet,” says Liam. “I got out alone sometimes, when I’m feeling – when I need some time to myself.  It’s a good place to get your head straight.” 

“I could definitely use that,” Zayn admits. 

“It’ll be fun,” says Liam.  “You’ve never been sailing, right?”

“Not since I was, like, seven.” 

“You’ll like it, I promise.”  

The non-crazy part of Zayn has serious doubts, but he’d probably agree to a sailing trip around the entire fucking world if Liam’s going to keep smiling at him like that.  His mouth looks pink and inviting.  Every cell in Zayn’s body is screaming at him to reach up and press their lips together. Yes, he’s definitely drunk. He should really, really go home. 

“I should probably go,” he says. “Tired.” 

“Me too,” says Liam. “Oh god, you have to open the restaurant tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Zayn grimaces.  “I’ve been awake for far too long.”

“Same.  We should’ve been sleeping hours ago.  Our friends are terrible influences.” 

“The worst,” Zayn agrees.  “Speaking off, I’m actually gonna sneak off so I don’t get peer pressured into staying.  Will you tell everyone I said bye?”

“Sure.  Goodnight Zayn.”  They stand there smiling at each other for a second, and then Liam sweeps him into a quick, one-armed hug. “Thanks for listening to me,” he says, muffled against Zayn’s hair.  He pulls back, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Of course,” Zayn replies, dazed. “Um.  Goodnight.”  Liam gives a little wave, and disappears back inside.  

Back at home, his room seems strangely empty. Even though he’s exhausted, he stares into the dark for a long time, dizzy from the scent of smoke and clean flannel.   Did he seriously agree to a _sailing trip_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having way too much fun writing this. Thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry has a social life, Liam has a girlfriend, and Zayn really, really doesn't care about either one. Especially not the second thing.

“Wait a second.  You _what_?” Harry asks, a delighted smile spreading slowly across his face.  Zayn turns away to finish wiping the counter. 

“Never mind,” he mumbles.  

“Zayn, I think I must’ve misheard you. Did you say you’re going _sailing_?” 

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, throwing the rag in the sink.  They’re just finishing up the Sunday brunch shift, which was even emptier than usual. Luckily the diner closes early on Sundays, leaving Zayn with most of the afternoon to mope around feeling anxious.

“Not a big deal?” Harry asks, clearly thrilled, hopping up to sit on the part of the counter Zayn just finished wiping. “Zayn Malik, I’ve never seen you go within ten feet of a boat.  You wouldn’t even go on that dumb whitewater rafting ride with me at the theme park last year because, and I quote, ‘People drown on those’.” 

“They do,” Zayn mutters.  “Get your butt off my clean counter, Hazza.”

“Nobody has ever drowned on Pirate Rudy’s Rafting Race. I looked it up. Zero fatalities.” He hops off the counter, untying his apron.  “Look Zayn, I’m just saying, are you sure this is a good idea?  I’m sure there are other ways to impress your boy.” 

“What?  I’m not trying to impress anyone,” Zayn says indignantly.  “It’s for – it’s to get my creative juices flowing. It’s a new experience.”

“Creative juices?” Harry repeats, looking skeptical. “Gross.  Listen, I just hope you don’t have a panic attack or something.”

“I’m not going to have a panic attack,” insists Zayn. Actually, he’s going to have many panic attacks.  Probably set a new world record for how many panic attacks a human being can have per hour.

“True, you’ll probably get one foot onboard and just faint straightaway.” 

“I’m not going to _faint_ , Harry.” Again, not guaranteed.

“Well, at least you’ll have Liam there to catch you in his big strong arms, right?”  

“Don’t start,” Zayn warns.  

“Well, to be honest, I’m quite proud of you,” says Harry with a sunny smile, balling up his apron and stuffing it under the counter.  

“Maybe you should take that home and wash it,” Zayn suggests, knowing he won’t do anything of the sort.  He’s not sure Harry even has laundry facilities at his house.

“You’re facing your fears,” says Harry. “You’re growing as a person. Real-life character development. I love it.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Zayn repeats, praying that Harry will just shut up about it for once in his life. He’s getting nervous even thinking about it.  Six days away and he’s already sweating.  Maybe he should just call the whole thing off. 

He pours himself a cup of coffee and reaches for the creamer. 

“So how was snogging Liam, by the way? Is he any good?”

“What?” Zayn yelps, spilling cream all over his hand. 

“He seems like the type to get a little overeager with the tongue action.  You know, kinda wet.”

“Harry, I didn’t snog anyone! What are you talking about?”

“Oh,” says Harry, puzzled.  “Not at all?  Just a casual kiss goodnight, maybe?”

“No kissing of any kind.  You don’t think I might’ve, like, mentioned that to you?”

“Dunno, you’re quite secretive sometimes.” 

“I’m an open book,” says Zayn, sitting down at the bar to sip his coffee.  His heart is pounding for some stupid reason that’s definitely _not_ the thought of Liam being a little overeager with the tongue action. “Can you flip the sign?” 

“Sure,” says Harry, flipping the sign around to “Closed” and sitting down next to Zayn.  “I just figured – maybe you had.”  

“No,” says Zayn, trying to keep his tone light. “Why would you think that?” 

Harry shrugs.  “You were outside for the longest time with him on Friday. And Liam seemed really happy when he came back in. Was talking about it with Lou yesterday.  At our luxury picnic.  Did I mention he brought this super fancy wine for me?  It’s _organic_. Really classy. And guess where it’s from? I’ll give you a hint: not England.”

“You were talking to Lou about what, exactly?” asks Zayn, heart in his throat.  If Harry told Louis one single thing about – anything Liam-related – Zayn’s going to have to kill both of them.  Then he’ll probably go to prison, where someone will snap him in half like a toothpick. Maybe he should just flee the country while he has the chance. At least he won't have to go sailing.

Harry shrugs.  “Nothing.  He said you guys had a nice chat.  That’s all.” 

“You didn’t say anything about –" 

“No, of course not.”  Harry gives him a wounded look.  “What kind of terrible friend do you think I am?”

“Wait, how does Louis know we had a nice chat?”

“I’m guessing because Liam told him? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” says Zayn.  He feels embarrassed but he’s not sure why.

“What was your nice chat about, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Zayn repeats.  “I already told you like three times.  We talked about my art stuff.  Then he invited me sailing and I said I’d go.”

“He likes you,” says Harry.  

“Oh shut up,” says Zayn wearily. He doesn’t need this right now. He’s nervous about his gallery project, and the stupid sailing not-date that he never should’ve agreed to, and this isn’t helping. 

“No, really, I think he does. Every time you said a word at Bran’s, he was like dead-on staring at you.” 

“That’s just normal human behavior, Harry. Looking at someone while they talk. It’s polite.”

“Maybe,” says Harry with a shrug. “But I don’t think so. Come on, he invited you on a private sailing trip.  He’s courting you. He wants to ride the Zayn train.”

“He does _not_ ,” Zayn squeaks, blushing into his coffee.  “We’re just friends.”

“All aboard!”

“Shut up, Harry!” 

Harry rolls his eyes.  “Look, I’m just saying – well, it doesn’t matter. Think what you want. Whatcha up to tonight?”

“I dunno,” says Zayn, feeling drained. “Might go to the studio. I really need to get some work done. How about you?” 

“Hmm,” says Harry, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Spot of dinner. Probably go over to Lou’s. They have this stray kitty that hangs out on their porch, it’s the cutest little thing.  Liam was feeding her tuna out of a can yesterday. You should come meet her.”

“I can’t,” says Zayn, studiously ignoring the image of Liam hand-feeding a kitten.  Harry is truly the worst kind of pest.  “I need to be trapped in my studio overnight or something.  I haven’t touched the bloody thing in a week.  Not to mention, the whole place basically needs to be sterilized.  It's such a mess.”

“I’ll lock you in,” Harry offers helpfully. “Do you want me to guard the door?”

“No,” says Zayn tiredly.

“Of course not.  I think we both know who you’d prefer to have locked up with you all night.”

“Oh my god,” murmurs Zayn.  “Please leave.  You’re off the clock.  Goodbye.”

“I have to go anyway,” says Harry cheerfully, hopping off his stool.  “Because I have a social life.  Love you. Good luck on your art.”

“Bye,” says Zayn.  As soon as Harry’s out of the door, he lets his forehead drop to the counter. “Aughh,” he whispers against the cool Formica.  Harry’s right about one thing: this sailing trip is a terrible idea, which will probably result in panic attacks, fainting, or a combination of the two. 

He tries not to think about it, instead beginning a mental list of things to do tonight.  Usually list-making is therapeutic for him, but not this time. Everything he needs to do seems like a huge pain.  Laundry. Grocery shopping. Clean out the studio, which is going to take forever.  Gallery piece.

“Ugh,” he mutters to himself. “More like throw myself into traffic.”

“Hello?” says someone from behind him. 

“Uh, we’re closed,” stutters Zayn, turning around, but it’s just Liam with his head poked through the door, looking sheepish. 

“Hi,” he says, “sorry.”  His hair is damp and half-plastered across his forehead, eyes merry. “Was walking home, and I thought I saw you in here.  Just wanted to say hi.” 

“Hi,” says Zayn, hoping desperately that Liam didn’t hear him talking to himself like a lunatic. 

“Hi,” Liam repeats, with a goofy little grin. “I saw Harry just now, he said he’s headed over to our place.”

“Yeah, I think he starts to get physically ill if he’s apart from Louis for more than a few hours.” 

Liam laughs.  “I’ve noticed that too.  I think they both have it.”  

“I’ve never seen him act this way about somebody,” Zayn says, hopping off the stool and reaching over the counter to set his empty coffee mug in the sink.  Liam’s standing in the threshold with his arm propped against the door, holding it half-open.  He’s far, far too cute. Zayn staunchly ignores it. “It’s a bit ridiculous, really.” 

“It’s sweet,” says Liam.  “Sickening, obviously, but sweet. Did you hear about the luxury picnic?” 

“Only for about four hours.  He listed every single item along with a detailed description of how it looked, how it tasted, and whether or not it was hand-fed to him.”

“Nice,” says Liam, laughing.  “At least you weren’t on the shopping trip to buy the stuff. Louis must’ve spent an hour at the cheese counter alone trying samples.  The grocery lady clearly wanted to kill us.  I'm lucky to be alive.”   

“You are,” Zayn agrees, grabbing his bag.  “She can be vicious." He gestures to Liam's wet hair. "Were you diving?”

“Yeah, just got back,” says Liam. “Our mystery sub. It’s mad, actually. This is the real deal. It’s quite an old wreck. Louis found some dishes he’s excited about.”

“Dishes?”  

“Yeah, a bowl and a few plates, they look like they’re from the forties.  Maybe a little later. Well-preserved. No markings though, it’s the strangest thing.” 

“Ah, I see,” says Zayn, as though he has a single clue about things like that. 

“It’s creepy, man.  I’ve been on a lot of wrecks, and I gotta say – it’s a scary one.”

“I can’t even imagine,” says Zayn, shaking his head and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder.  “I think I’d probably have a heart attack.”

Liam stands back for Zayn to walk through the door, and follows him out.  Zayn turns to lock up, fumbling for his keys.  The door sticks, because it always does, and he can’t get the key in properly.

“Ugh, stupid thing, always does this –“ he mumbles, and then Liam’s got his hand on the knob, holding it closed until Zayn can get it locked. 

“Thanks,” he says, glancing up at him.

“No problem,” says Liam, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  “Where are you headed?”

“Studio,” says Zayn with a little groan. 

“Ah,” says Liam knowingly.  “You seem thrilled.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got all this crap I need to clear out. I know it’ll help me concentrate if I’ve got a clean workspace, but it’s literally the last thing I want to do right now.”

“Maybe I can help,” Liam offers. “I’m good at cleaning out junk. Can’t stand a mess. Louis always teases me about it.”

“Um,” says Zayn, unable to believe what he’s hearing, “what? You want – you want to help me clean?”

Liam shrugs, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, uh, only if you want me to. I just – Louis and Harry are a bit loud sometimes.  I was gonna go to the gym anyway, I mean I definitely don’t want to intrude on you –“

“No, that’d be great, actually,” Zayn interrupts. Why is Liam always so fucking nice? It doesn’t seem fair. “I could really use a hand. It’s a big job though, fair warning.”

“I’m ready for it,” says Liam with a bright little smile. 

“Well, it’s just down the block,” says Zayn, gesturing vaguely.  They stroll over together, Liam chatting away about the artifacts they found on the sub, Zayn just listening.  It’s strangely soothing to hear Liam talk, even though he has basically no idea what he’s talking about.

Zayn leads the way up the little sidewalk that goes to his tiny, rented studio.  He’s wondering vaguely how he can keep Liam from seeing some of his more embarrassing artwork when he notices a torn piece of paper shoved behind the storm door, and fuck.

He already knows what it says. They always say the same thing, more or less.  A heavy little lump settles down into his stomach. 

“This is it?” Liam asks, looking interestedly up at the dilapidated building.  “Hey, what’s that?  You’ve got a note.” 

Zayn rips the paper out of the door. “It’s nothing,” he says, shoving it in his pocket before Liam can read it. 

“Are you sure?” asks Liam, sounding concerned. “What does it say?”

“Nothing,” snaps Zayn, sharper than he means to. “Can we drop it?” 

“Yeah,” says Liam, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” says Zayn, suddenly exhausted. “I’m sorry.  It’s just – this guy upstairs.  I’ve barely even met him, but he doesn’t like me.  Sometimes he leaves nasty little notes, that’s all.”

“Notes?  Why?” 

Zayn shrugs, trying not to meet Liam’s eyes. “Just -- doesn't like me.  He doesn't like Harry either, but he especially doesn't like me.” 

“That’s awful, he doesn't even know you,” says Liam.  He squints up at the second floor, the boarded-up window and rickety air conditioning units.  “What an asshole!”

Zayn stares over his shoulder, trying to keep his tone casual.  “Basically. It’s just one more reason I need to make this art thing count, you know?  Getting gallery work is kind of my ticket out of this place.  Been trapped here my whole life.”

“I know what that's like,” says Liam. “Feeling trapped."

"It sucks," Zayn admits.  "And shit like this -- ugh.  He always manages to do it when I'm already having a bad day.  It's like he knows, somehow."

"Look, do you want me to – I dunno, go up there and talk to him?”  Liam makes a little punching motion in the air. “I’ve had loads of boxing practice.”

“No,” says Zayn, smiling in spite of himself. “I don’t need you to box anyone for me.” 

“I’m just saying, I know you can take care of yourself, but I – I can make that happen.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” says Zayn. The note still burns heavy in his pocket, but he already feels a little better. 

“Are you okay?” Liam asks.  It’s almost absurd how kind he is, Zayn thinks, trying not to shrink under Liam’s worried gaze. 

“Yeah, I’m – it’s alright.  He does this every once in awhile.  He’s just a crazy old dude.  I try not to let it bother me.” 

“You deserve better than that,” says Liam softly, frowning.  

“I know,” says Zayn, shrugging, uncomfortable with the attention.  “I like who I am, though. If someone else doesn’t, it’s not my problem. Come on, let’s go in.” 

“Okay,” says Liam, quirking a tentative smile at him as he follows Zayn through the door.  His voice echoes in the empty hallway.  “You know, I – I used to get picked on too.  When I was at school.”

“Really?” It’s hard to imagine.

“Yeah,” says Liam, rubbing the back of his head. “Used to get picked on all the time. I wish I’d had your attitude about it. You’re so calm.”

“Not much choice in the matter,” Zayn says, gesturing for Liam to follow him down the small staircase. “What am I gonna do, write him a nasty note back and fold it into a paper airplane?”

“That’s not a bad idea.  Inventive.”

“I don’t think so,” says Zayn, unable to help his smile.  “I’m shite at airplanes anyway.” 

“I’m rather good at them,” says Liam thoughtfully.

“No revenge planes,” says Zayn, rolling his eyes. “Come on, it’s right down here. Gonna put you to work.”

True to his word, Liam is excellent at cleaning out junk.  Together they haul out a year’s worth of old painting supplies, empty tubes of gel medium, charcoal splinters, driftwood, crumpled papers, various bits and ends leftover from Zayn’s uni days as an art student.  

He thought it would be awkward, having someone – Liam – in his studio, but it feels almost natural.  Embarrassing, though.  Liam effusively compliments every tiny drawing he sees until Zayn’s blushing so hard he can’t feel his cheeks.  He staunchly refuses to let Zayn throw away an appalling, years-old Batman sketch done in Sharpie, blocking the rubbish bag like a goalie until Zayn finally stops trying. 

“It’s really good.  You can’t pitch it.”  

“Just keep it, then,” Zayn says gruffly, folding it into quarters and handing it back to him.  Liam smiles, slipping it into his back pocket. “Thanks.  Probably be worth a million dollars someday.”

“Stop it,” says Zayn, secretly elated. “It’s dreadful. I never want to see it again.”

“I’m hanging it over my mantle,” says Liam.

In just a couple of hours, Zayn’s studio is cleaner than it’s been in months. 

“Whew,” says Liam, standing back to survey their work. He’s got his flannel shirt tied around his waist, cheeks pink and sweaty.  “Look at that Zen flow.  This is art central. Nothing’s gonna stop you now.”

“Incredible,” says Zayn, amazed, slightly out of breath. “I can't believe we got this done already.”  

“Dream team,” Liam says, holding up his hand for a high-five. Zayn slaps it happily.

“Thanks again for helping me. This literally would’ve taken me all night. Probably longer.” 

“Aw, it’s no problem at all,” says Liam, scuffing his trainer against the floor.  Zayn picks up the final box from the ground, struggling to shove it onto the shelf overhead.

“I feel – oof— like I need to repay you somehow. What – what do you want? Oh shit—” The box is slipping out of his grip, a few paintbrushes tumbling to the ground, and Liam steps forward to grab it. 

“Thanks,” Zayn says, breathless, turning his face to smile at him. Is Liam giving him a weird look, or is it just his imagination? He clears his throat, suddenly hyperaware of Liam standing right next to him, radiating warmth, smelling of seawater and faint cologne. 

“Hm,” mumbles Liam, chewing his lower lip. Their faces are very close, close enough that Zayn can see the very faint freckles on his nose. Close enough that he can feel Liam’s breath on his cheek, soft and vaguely spicy.  Liam’s eyes are fixed on Zayn’s, warm and intent, and it’s almost like being hypnotized.  Zayn feels light-headed. 

“Maybe a cheeseburger?” he suggests weakly.  Liam laughs and steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  His eyes tilt away towards the floor.

“Actually, that sounds great. I’m starving.” 

“Alright,” says Zayn, trying to shake the strange, jittery feeling in his chest.His head buzzes with questions he can’t ask, questions he probably doesn’t want to know the answers to. He really, really needs to chill out. “Okay, let’s go.” 

It’s cool and dusky outside, that twilight period between late afternoon and early evening.  Zayn can smell cut grass and a faint tinge of smoke, like someone’s having a bonfire on the beach.  The burger place is right down the street, a short but silent walk.  Zayn is full of nervous energy.  Liam walks along with his head down, whistling a little.

When the reach the door, Liam steps in front to hold it open for him.  “Thanks,” says Zayn, fingers ghosting just barely against Liam’s as he steps into the lights. Then Liam’s brushing past him, waving enthusiastically. 

“Niall!” he calls.  “Hey!  What’s up, man?” 

Niall looks up from the bar, where he’s eating what appears to be a triple-decker bacon burger.  Liam strides across the red-and-white checked tiles and Zayn trails behind him, secretly disappointed.  He shouldn’t be, but he is.  What the hell did he think was gonna happen, though? He and Liam would share a milkshake and talk about their feelings?  He needs very desperately to calm down. 

“Hey there Payno,” says Niall in his Irish accent, looking between Liam and Zayn with one eyebrow quirked.  “What’s goin’ on, lads?” 

“Just getting some dinner,” says Liam. He sits down next to Niall. Zayn sits too, feeling out of place.

“Hi Niall,” he says, and Niall gives him a little wave. 

“Cheatin’ on the diner tonight, eh Zayn?” he says. 

“Oh well I was there earlier, the diner’s actually closed now,” rambles Zayn, “closes early on Sundays, nobody ever comes in, so it’s – yeah.”  Fuck. Someone needs to teach him how to have regular conversations with people.  This is probably why Niall doesn’t like him.  

“We were cleaning out Zayn’s art studio,” says Liam. “He promised me a cheeseburger for helping. Couldn’t say no to that.”

He slings an arm around Zayn’s shoulders briefly, a casual little squeeze.  Zayn swallows involuntarily. 

“Hm,” says Niall, side-eyeing Zayn. “That’s cool.  So did you hear from Danielle?” 

Liam’s face drops, and he twines his fingers together, fidgeting.  “Nah,” he says, “but it’s no big deal, she’s probably just busy.” 

Zayn’s chest suddenly feels weird and tight. Danielle is Liam’s girlfriend, he knows that.  He’s mentioned her a few times, and of course Zayn’s seen the pictures online.  Coupley photos of them in Liam’s hometown, going to football games, wrapped in a blanket together watching fireworks, dressed up for a night out.  She’s exceedingly beautiful. Not that Zayn cares.

“So you still don’t know if she’s coming up?”

“Well, last night she said – I don’t think so. She wants me to come down there, I guess, she’s got some fancy party with her sister.  Says I should be there.”

Niall’s face is strangely soft. He gives Liam a little pat on the back. “You’re not gonna go, though, are ya?”

“Can’t.  Gonna be swamped with work,” says Liam, looking tired. 

“Well, just –“ Niall says something to Liam, too soft for Zayn to hear, and Liam shrugs. 

“I guess so,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it.  “Where’s our server? I’m dying here. All I ate today was that candy bar at, like, 4 a.m.” 

They place their orders – double cheeseburger for Liam and a chicken sandwich for Zayn.  It’s not long before long Liam’s laughing again, trying to engage Niall in telling Zayn a long and confusing story about fishing. 

Zayn laughs along, trying unsuccessfully to push the image of Liam’s gorgeous girlfriend out of his mind.  She’s coming, she’s not coming, who cares? It shouldn’t matter. It _doesn’t_ matter.  He knows Liam has a girlfriend – he’s known it all along.  And he’s completely, perfectly, 100% fine with it.  Liam’s his friend, and as long as Liam’s happy, he’s fine with it.

“So then he’s like – what did he say? It’s a marlin, not a swordfish?”

Niall and Liam are cracking up. Zayn's not following at all.  It's definitely something about fish, and that's as far as he's made it.

“He was so insistent that he was right. But it was the _same fish_ , Zayn,” says Liam, grabbing his shoulder, eyes scrunched up with delight.  Zayn has no fucking clue what the joke is, but he laughs anyway.  His heart does a wobbly little flip. 

“Oh right,” he says.  “That’s – that’s really funny.”  Liam’s hand is still on his shoulder, easy and friendly. Niall is watching him thoughtfully from Liam’s other side.

“So I heard you’re going out on the _Explorer_ ,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. It sounds ridiculous in Zayn’s ears when Niall says it out loud.  He nods slowly, although most of him thinks he should just call the whole thing off before he completely embarrasses himself.  Why is he going out on a boat to impress a guy who’s never, ever going to fall for him? It’s the stupidest thing ever.

“Saturday,” says Liam.  “Bright and early, like maybe 6ish?  Does that work for you?  Don’t worry, I’ll pack us something better than candy bars.”

“Great,” says Zayn weakly.  Six in the _morning_ on his day off?  That settles it. He wonders if he should bail now, or wait until later in the week.  Harry’s right – he has no business on a boat.  He belongs on land.

“You know the rules about taking civilians out,” says Niall.  “You remember, right?”

“I’m not gonna do that to him,” Liam mutters.

“Do what?” Zayn asks. 

“Nothing,” says Liam. 

“Just a little test,” says Niall with a sunny grin. “Of your seaworthiness. You’ll have to pass before you can get onboard.” 

 _Not really_ , Liam mouths to him where Niall can’t see.  Zayn smiles, and Liam gives him a big cheerful grin, fingers gentle and casual on the back of his neck.  It’s very distracting.

“I just can’t wait to take you out there, Zayn,” he says. Their eyes meet, Liam’s honey-brown and merry, and Zayn’s heart flies into his throat.  “I really can’t wait.  It’s gonna be sick.  You’ll love it.”

“Yeah,” says Zayn, grinning dopily back. God, he’s fucking lost. Of course he’s not going to cancel. He’s going out on that boat with Liam at 6 a.m. in the goddamn morning and he’s probably going to fall overboard and nearly drown and Harry will tease him relentlessly for the rest of his natural life.  “Can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3 Sorry if this chapter was a jumbled mess. I tried.
> 
> Next up: Zayn's sailing adventure :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Liam has a secret, Harry and Lou make it official, and Zayn is in way over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the LONGEST CHAPTER OF ALL TIME, I have no chill, I'm so sorry.

The week goes by in a blur of diner shifts, art-related frustration and trying to tune out Harry’s increasingly gleeful speculation on What Boat Sex Is Probably Like. 

“We are _platonic friends_ ,” Zayn says wearily for the nine hundredth time. “You know what platonic means, right?”

Harry nods with a look of deep, genuine understanding. Behind him, someone’s turkey reuben is about to burn on the grill.  

“Maybe you should dress up in one of those little sailor uniforms,” he says thoughtfully.  “You know, one of those sexy little –“ 

“No, Harry!” Zayn yelps, rescuing the sandwich. 

“You’d look good in it, though. What?  You would!” 

Zayn swats him with a greasy spatula and sends him on break, staunchly ignoring his mimed innuendos for the rest of the shift. 

But the worst part is that it’s not just Harry. On Friday night, Louis comes into the diner alone and orders a BLT, giving Zayn an inexplicably smug look the entire time. 

“What?” Zayn finally asks, spreading some mayo on his sandwich. 

“Oh nothing.  Feelin’ psyched about tomorrow?” Louis asks, a grin spreading wider and wider across his face until he looks downright sinister.     

“Am I getting punked?” Zayn asks slowly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Louis shakes his head, still smiling. Zayn sets the sandwich down in front of him.  

“Liam’s feelin’ psyched,” says Louis, and takes a huge bite of his sandwich.  “Wow! This is really good.”  His voice is muffled by food, little bits of bacon spraying out onto the counter. 

“Glad you like it,” Zayn says carefully. “What are you on about?” 

“Your little boat trip, obviously,” says Louis. “Should be a fun time.”

“I guess,” says Zayn.  Louis looks suspiciously like he knows something, and it’s making Zayn nervous.   

“You don’t have my blessing, just so you know,” says Louis, staring him down. 

“Your blessing for what?” Zayn tries to keep his voice steady.  Louis talks a lot of shit. There’s no way he could be talking about –

“Stealing Liam when he should be diving with us. It’s gonna be a brilliant day tomorrow. You’re even taking our boat.  We’ll have to use Sheeran’s.  It’s quite honestly an outrage.”  

“It is,” agrees Zayn, relieved. “I’m just a bystander. Blame Liam.” 

“Oh, I do,” says Louis with a dark look. 

“Was he working today?” Zayn asks, keeping his tone light and casual.

“Yeah,” says Louis with his mouth half-full. “He drove up to the city. Presenting his conservation stuff in front of the Navy committee.  He should be done by now, though.”  

“Oh no,” says Zayn, heart dropping. Liam had texted him this morning, a cheerful little nonsense note filled with grammatical errors. He hadn’t said anything about today being an official meeting.  Zayn would’ve said something encouraging if he knew.  

Louis shrugs.  “Don’t worry about it.  He’ll be fine. We’ll be stuck with the damn seahorses til the end of the month, at least.  Maybe longer.” 

“You think so?” 

“Oh, for sure. You should’ve seen this presentation he worked up.  That kid’s passionate as hell.  He probably made ‘em cry.”

“I hope so,” says Zayn, with more force in his voice than he intended.  

“Hell, _he_ probably cried,” says Louis, watching Zayn with a curious, unreadable expression. “But I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it.” 

He sounds like he’s teasing, but Zayn can’t quite figure out why.  He turns away, disturbed, busying himself with writing out Louis’ receipt on a slip of paper. 

“Uh, maybe,” he says.  “You want anything else?” 

“No, I’m good.  Gotta get going.  Actually, though, I meant to ask you –“

“Yeah?” asks Zayn, handing him the paper. 

“I’m, uh, well,” Louis fidgets on the stool, for once looking uncomfortable.  Zayn is completely mystified.  “I was gonna – I was trying to plan something special.  For tonight.  For Styles.” 

“That’s nice,” says Zayn, pleased by the subject change. “Harry likes special things.” 

“Would it be too much if I, uh, brought him, like – flowers?  Too cliché? Too stupid?” 

“No,” says Zayn, biting back a laugh. “He loves flowers. I’ll be hearing about it for the next two weeks.  Daisies are his favorite.” 

“Great,” says Louis, looking relieved. “Daisies, huh?” 

“Yeah, although he’ll spend the rest of the night trying to weave them into a crown.  And he’ll probably make you wear it.  Just a fair warning.”  

Louis smiles fondly.  “Thanks.”  

“No problem,” says Zayn.  

Louis leaves a few crumpled bills on the counter and gets up, stretching.  “Alright, I’m off. See you later Zayn,” he says. Zayn gives a little wave. 

“Good luck,” he says. 

“Thanks.  And don’t worry about your boy,” says Louis, half-turning in the doorway. “Once he sets his sights on something, there’s no stopping him.  He’s quite persistent.” 

“Oh, well,” says Zayn, heart in his throat, “he’s not _my_ —“ 

But Louis is already outside, door closing with a merry jingle.   Zayn stares after him, mouth dry. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He spends the rest of the night stalwartly not thinking about it. 

***

It’s still dark and chilly as they walk down to the docks the next morning, Liam wearing a black jacket and loaded down with a few bags, sipping coffee from a paper cup.  He keeps giving Zayn smiley little side glances which are far too adorable for this early in the morning.  

Zayn’s first instinct, upon hearing his alarm go off at 5, had been to throw his phone across the room.  But somehow he’d managed to drag himself out of bed (on his _day off_ ) get dressed, fix his hair, and now he’s standing on the edge of a dock with Liam about to throw his young life away.  It’s all very out of character. He feels like he’s dreaming. 

“There she is,” says Liam, gesturing to a little white fishing boat with _Explorer_ written on the back in fancy black letters.  “Our champion.  Pride of the diving world.  Well, not really.” 

He hops on board like it’s the easiest thing in the world, setting his bags down on the bow.  

“Come on down,” he calls cheerfully, gesturing to Zayn. The pre-dawn twilight shrouds his face in shadows but Zayn can still see his smile, like this isn’t a potentially life-or-death situation.  

“Um,” says Zayn, swallowing hard. He’s going to fall in the fucking water and it’s not going to be cute.  

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t go on boats. Need a hand down?” 

“Uh, no,” says Zayn.  It’s a huge lie.  He needs many hands.  He can see the water lurking below, dark green ominous at the side of the boat.  Okay, he can do this.  It’s like a ten-inch step.  He takes a deep breath and places one foot onto the boat.  It’s unsteady and he lets out a mortifying little squeak. Liam grabs his arm, helping him down, gentle but strong.  

“Thanks,” he says, half-stumbling even once he’s on the deck. He almost falls on his face but Liam catches him around the waist, steadying him with his big sturdy hands. Zayn pulls away, cheeks burning. God.  It’s only been five seconds and he’s already humiliating himself. 

“No problem,” says Liam, shuffling his feet, half-smiling. “Might take a few minutes, but you’ll get used to it.  Get your sea legs.”

“Right,” says Zayn weakly.  He sits on a bolted down seat and watches Liam putter around, messing with ropes and metal clips.  “So this is sailing,” he remarks.  “Bit dismal.” 

“Yep,” says Liam, looking up at him with a grin. “Well, actually no. This isn’t sailing at all. This is just plain boating. It sounds cooler if you call it sailing though.  And it’ll get better. This is the boring part.” 

He sits down behind the wheel and turns the key. The motor sputters into life, and Zayn’s heart flies into his throat as they pull away from the dock. This is it – he’s actually doing it. His stomach lurches.

He tries not to look overboard, focusing instead on Liam behind the little steering wheel.  He seems so relaxed, sprawled on the seat, one elbow on the side of the boat, sea-fresh wind ruffling his fringe.  He smiles when he sees Zayn looking at him. 

“You okay?  You cool?”

“Yeah,” mumbles Zayn.  He actually does feel alright.  Maybe it’s the breeze, the streaks of pink over the horizon, the thermos full of coffee that Liam brought for him, or just the early morning unreality of it all, but he does.  He feels okay.  As long as he doesn’t look at the water. 

“Sorry I made you get up so early,” Liam is saying, “it’s just – there’s nothing like watching the sun come up over the water. We’re just in time to see it.” He checks his watch.

The sky is already getting lighter, orange streaks over the horizon, pinkish purple by the edge of the water. 

“Where should I be looking?” Zayn asks. They’re already far enough out that the coastline looks like a dark smudge in the distance, and his heart clenches. Be cool.  

“Hmm,” says Liam, surveying the sky. He kills the motor and swivels his body to face Zayn.  Their knees are nearly touching and Zayn gulps.  It’s too fucking early in the morning for this.  

“Probably . . .” he points to a spot on the horizon that looks exactly like every other spot. “Over there. More or less.  That’s due east, anyway.”  

“How can you tell?”  

“The stars,” says Liam, gazing pensively at the sky.

“Seriously?” Zayn asks, all nervousness forgotten, completely fascinated.  “That’s amazing.” 

“Well, and I have a compass on my dashboard.”

“Wow.  I was almost really impressed for a minute.” 

Liam laughs, ducking his head. “Sorry.  I’m a fraud.  I have other tricks, I promise.” 

“I don’t know if I can believe that, now,” says Zayn. “My trust is shattered.” 

“I’ve made a right mess of things,” Liam agrees, stretching back in his seat.  “Oh look – over there. Here it comes.” 

Zayn turns and his breath actually catches, like he’s in a fucking poem or something.  It’s gorgeous.  The sun is just peeking over the horizon, spreading long shining fingers across the dark water. Right before his eyes, the sky morphs into a shimmering canvas of colors, from deep blue-violet to ruby orange to the most delicate shade of pink. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” says Liam happily. 

“Amazing,” says Zayn quietly. He wants to take a mental picture, somehow, frame it permanently in his mind.  It would make a stunning painting.  

“Love watching the sun come up over the water,” says Liam softly.  The air feels very still around them, and Zayn can feel the boat rocking gently on the small waves.

“This is my first time,” he says. Liam looks at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Really?” 

“Yep,” says Zayn.  “I’m either opening the diner or I’m sleeping until early afternoon.  There’s no in-between.” 

Liam laughs, shifting a little closer to him, bumping his shoulder. “Well I’m glad you – got to see this.  Is it everything you ever dreamed of?” 

“And more,” Zayn agrees.  “Thanks.” 

“Sure,” says Liam, watching him with a strange, soft expression.  “Thanks for – coming out here with me.  Nobody ever wants to. Just to hang out, I mean.”

Zayn takes a sip of his coffee. “Really?  Not even Louis?”  

“Not really,” says Liam with a little shrug. “We used to do this all the time when we were younger.  Cruise out with beer and fishing gear – we were set all day.  Now it’s like, if we’re not diving, he doesn’t see the point.”

“He’s fishing for something else these days,” Zayn murmurs, thinking of Louis’ questions about Harry.  Liam laughs, nodding.

“I think you’re right.  Did you hear about last night?” 

“No, what happened?” asks Zayn. 

“Lou asked Harry to be exclusive. He’s been planning it for days. I was sworn to secrecy.   He practically made me swear a blood oath not to tell you.  It was all quite cute. Although he made a mess scattering flowers everywhere.” 

“Oh wow, really?” Zayn is thrilled, although he knows this is going to make Harry absolutely insufferable.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened though. I fell asleep early.” 

“I’m sure Harry said yes,” says Zayn. “I’m surprised I didn’t get five thousand texts from him last night.  Or, well, actually – I guess I’m not.  They were probably – busy.”  

“I wore ear plugs to bed,” Liam admits. “Lou set off the fire alarm trying to cook some kind of fancy chicken.  I knew it was gonna be a loud night.” 

Zayn laughs, trying to imagine it. Harry probably lost his damn mind. There’s nothing he loves more than being pampered and cooked for.  “I’m happy for them.  Harry deserves this. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously for ages.” 

“Yeah, same with Lou.  He’s dancing on the moon right now, I’m sure. I can’t remember the last time he had a proper boyfriend.”  

“That’s really sweet,” says Zayn, biting his lip. Harry falls in love easily and often, but he can’t help but feel like it’s different this time.  It’s kind of wonderful.  Although it’s definitely going to be the only thing he talks about for the rest of their lives.  Maybe Zayn should get some ear plugs too.

Liam smiles at him, the morning light reflected orange in his eyes.  “And what about you?” 

“Uh, me?” Zayn stutters, caught off guard.

“Yeah, I mean, I realized – I’ve just never really seen you with anyone – sorry, if that’s a rude question –“ 

“Oh, no,” Zayn interrupts, heart pounding stupidly fast.  “It’s fine. No, I’m not dating anyone. Haven’t in quite awhile, actually.” 

“Oh,” says Liam, a little smile still on his lips. “Sorry.  That came out weird.  I didn’t mean to, like, pry into your business.” 

“No, it’s okay,” says Zayn, looking at his hands. Actually, the last thing in the world he wants to discuss with Liam is his miserable dating history. Luckily, Liam seems distracted, fiddling with the dashboard.  The sun has cleared the horizon by now, fresh and sparkling over the water.

“So uh – what do we, like, do out here?” he asks, stretching out his legs.  “Water sports?” 

“Well,” says Liam, settling back into the captain’s chair, “I actually was thinking – we have a few options. You can pick.”

“What are my choices?” Zayn asks, taking another sip of coffee.  It’s really good. He thinks it might be hazelnut. He wonders if Liam made it, which would just be yet another unfairly adorable thing tacked onto the end of an already too long list.   

“Fishing, for one,” says Liam, “I’ve got everything we’d need for that.  We could cruise around doing nothing, which is the second option.  More fun than it sounds.  Or, we could go to Key Island, if you want to.  It’s a little ways off but it’s nice.” 

“Hmm,” says Zayn.  “Key Island?  What’s that?” 

“It’s a marine sanctuary a few miles west from here. Nice little beach. Did some research out there for my thesis. Lots of seahorses.” He gives Zayn a goofy grin. “Technically I’m not supposed to be there unless it’s on business, but –“ He shrugs, buffing his nails on his plaid shirt. “I don’t play by the rules.” 

Zayn snorts a laugh.   “You rogue.” 

“Yep,” says Liam, quirking an eyebrow at him, “that’s exactly what they call me.  Liam the rogue.”

“Who calls you that?” 

“Uh, my – friends.  Plenty of people.” 

Zayn gives him a deeply skeptical look and Liam ducks his head, laughing. 

“Fine, I admit it.  Nobody has ever called me that.  I love rules.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” says Zayn, giggling, and is he actually having _fun_ on a _boat_?  The ocean is calm, still and peaceful, and Zayn could’ve saved himself about eight anxiety attacks if he’d known it was going to be like this. “Alright, take me to your forbidden island.”

“Cool,” says Liam, revving the boat engine. “Let’s do this.”

*** 

The island is tiny, a sandy little coast lined with low, scrubby plants and signs that say WILDLIFE SANCTUARY: DO NOT DOCK. Liam docks anyway, splashing down into the shallow water with bare feet and his jeans rolled up to make sure the anchor line is secure.  

“Uh, are you sure this is – allowed?” Zayn asks from the boat, eyeing the signs.  

Liam looks up at him, squinting in the sun. “What?  Oh, those?  Yeah, it’s fine.” 

“We’re not gonna get in trouble with, like, the ocean police?”

“I am the ocean police,” says Liam, striking a goofy pose while the surf breaks around his ankles. The sun glints gold off of his hair. “No, really, it’ll be fine. I know the people who run this place. They just don’t want kids coming out to party and throwing rubbish everywhere.  Kinda defeats the purpose of a sanctuary, you know?”  

“Right,” says Zayn, trying not to stare at him. As the temperature climbed throughout the morning, Liam had stripped off first his jacket and then his flannel shirt.  Now he’s down to just a nearly-transparent white t-shirt, which in Zayn’s opinion should be immediately outlawed for public safety reasons.  

“You coming down?” Liam asks, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. Although the water is only shin-deep, Zayn eyes it mistrustfully.  Liam wades over to the side of the boat, surf foaming around his legs, getting his jeans wet. 

“Here, I’ll help you,” he says, arm outstretched like Zayn’s a fucking damsel in distress.  

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, but takes his hand anyway, heart plunging as he hops off the side of the boat.  He splashes feet-first into the water just as a wave breaks, and something soft and horrible brushes against the side of his ankle. 

“Augh!” he yelps, scrambling against Liam, who catches his waist briefly.  “What was that?” 

“Bit of seaweed,” says Liam, clearly struggling not to laugh. 

“Get it _away_ ,” squeaks Zayn, disgusted, high-stepping out of the water like a cat to get away from it.  Liam loses the battle, doubling over with helpless laughter.  

“I’m sorry,” he gasps.  “I’m sorry, Zayn.  Oh my god, I’m so sorry for laughing.”  

“I just didn’t know what it was,” mutters Zayn with as much dignity as he can muster, marching onto the dry sand. Liam follows, still shaking with laughter. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, sounding more amused than anything.  “You weren’t kidding, huh?  Not a fan of the ocean.”

“I don’t trust it,” mumbles Zayn. His trainers are soaked. He probably should’ve taken them off before he jumped into the water.  Now they’re going to be all gross and salty. 

“Probably wise,” says Liam.  “But how do you feel about beaches?” 

“I feel alright, I guess,” says Zayn, shrugging. “I guess it depends on the beach.” 

“What about a private beach all to yourself?” Liam asks, spreading his arms wide.  “Just us and the lizards.  Oh, I forgot to tell you, this is a lizard habitat as well.  So we aren’t allowed to go in the bushes.” 

“Dammit,” says Zayn.  “That’s the only reason I wanted to come here.  Stomp around in some poison bushes.”  He bends down to untie his shoes, pulling them off along with his socks.  The sand is hot and scratchy between his toes, and he kind of likes it.  

“Maybe next time,” says Liam. “I’ll see if I can arrange that.” He quirks a smile at Zayn, all warm eyes and tan skin, muscles showing through his shirt.  Zayn feels light-headed, wet feet forgotten. 

“Yes,” he says slowly.  “Next time.  Good.” Get it together, Malik.

“So,” says Liam, thankfully oblivious, “are you feeling inspired yet?”  He flops down in the sand like a puppy, digging his toes in.  “I forgot to bring towels,” he adds as a sidenote.  “I’m sorry.  I’m usually better prepared.” 

“That’s alright,” Zayn says again.

“Here, you can sit on my shirt,” says Liam, pulling the flannel from around his waist and spreading it out next to him. 

“Thanks,” says Zayn, sitting down on it. “I’m feeling extremely inspired. I’m going to make a lot of paintings of sand.  And seaweed. I’ll face my fear through art.”

“That’s kinda what art’s all about, isn’t it?” Liam asks, tilting his face at Zayn.  

What the fuck, Zayn wants to say. You don’t get to be cute _and_ smart _and_ philosophical all at once.  But before he can answer, Liam’s digging around in his duffel bag. 

“Hey, are you hungry?  I’ve packed all kinds of stuff.  A variety.” 

“Um, sure,” says Zayn.  Actually, he’s starving.  He was too nervous to eat this morning, and it’s probably past lunchtime by now. “What do you have?” 

“Okay, I lied, it’s not a variety.  I just made a lot of sandwiches.” 

“A variety of sandwiches?”  

Liam looks vaguely embarrassed. “No, they’re all the same kind. Do you like peanut butter?” He gives Zayn a nervous glance. “You’re not allergic to peanuts, right? I didn’t think of that.” 

“No, I’m not allergic,” says Zayn.

“Oh good,” says Liam, visibly relieved. “I’m glad.  Seems like a lot of people are.  Alright, here you go, then.”  

Zayn watches Liam eat, trying not to be obvious about it.  It’s a lovely day – sunny and temperate, a cool breeze rustling the bushes over the hill. The water sparkles enticingly. It occurs to Zayn that he’s never been somewhere like this in his entire life.  It’s gorgeous, serene, and Zayn feels a sudden rush of gratitude. 

“Thanks,” he says to Liam, who smiles through a mouthful of sandwich and gives him a thumbs up.  What a dork.  Zayn wants to knock him backwards in the sand and kiss him nine thousand times.   

“Is it good?” Liam says, swallowing. “Peanut butter sandwich is my specialty.” 

“It’s quite good,” says Zayn. “I’m getting more inspired with every bite.”  

“Think you’ll be able to squeeze a painting out of this experience?” 

“Definitely.  My best painting ever.  Seascape With Sandwiches.” 

“Sounds like a winner,” says Liam. “Look, actually, I – I really hope this helps.  I know what it’s like. To feel like you’re on the cusp of something important to you.  Sometimes you just need a little push, you know?” 

He gives Zayn a little smile and Zayn remembers, with a start, his meeting with the Navy board yesterday. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “It’s great.  Thanks, Liam.” 

Liam smiles at him, one of those sunshiney grins that could probably stop a world war.  “So, stop me if you don’t want to talk about it, but have you – made any progress? On your gallery thing, I mean.” 

“Uh,” says Zayn, shielding his eyes from the sun with a little laugh, “I covered it with a bedsheet so I don’t have to look at it. Does that count?” 

“I dunno, you’re the artist, you tell me.” 

“No,” says Zayn.  “No, definitely not.”  He wants to ask about the meeting, but – what if it went badly?  It would suck to ruin this.  Liam seems like he’s having a great time.  But what if he wants to talk about it, and is only holding back because he thinks Zayn doesn't care? 

Zayn’s just about to casually bring it up when Liam hops to his feet, dusting himself off.  

“So, you’ve got another choice to make.” 

“Oh?” Zayn tries to look up at him but it’s too bright. He should’ve brought sunglasses. He’s been woefully underprepared for this adventure so far.  

“Yep,” says Liam.  “We can either explore the perimeter of the island, or we can lounge around on the boat and drink the horrible beer Louis keeps stored in the cooler. Or both.”

“I want both,” says Zayn.  What is going on?  He has never in his life felt an urge to explore nature.  What’s happening to him?  “Are we exploring first?  Do I need shoes for any part of this?” 

“Absolutely not,” says Liam.  He reaches down and helps Zayn to his feet, grabbing by the fingers instead of wrist, although wrist would’ve been easier. “It’s all sandy. It’s a small island. Tour won’t take long. We might see some lizards though.” 

Actually, they see about five thousand lizards, and quite a lot of marine life as well.  Liam names every single species.  It’s like being back in biology class, although Zayn feels like he might’ve paid much better attention if it had been Liam at the front of the class, effusing breathlessly about shore crabs with tousled hair and sand on his shins. He’s basically a walking encyclopedia of wildlife facts, and it’s very cute. Zayn wants to tease him, but he can’t find it in his heart.  He’s too earnest. 

“Oh, wow, look at that,” says Liam when they’re almost back to the boat.  He’s pointing at something in the surf, and Zayn squints to see.  He follows Liam down the beach.  Liam crouches in the sand, scooping his hands into the water.

“Amazing,” he says, staring at whatever he pulled out. 

“What is it?” Zayn asks, leaning over to peer into the little pool in Liam’s hands.  "I don't see anything."  

Liam gives him a wide-eyed, sincere look, then bursts into laughter. 

“Oh god.  I can’t do it.  I’m sorry.” 

“What?”  Zayn is mystified.

Liam drops the water, shaking his head. “I was going to splash it in your face, but I messed it all up.  Can’t follow through.” 

“What?” Zayn yelps, pretending to be appalled. “You horrible man! How unprofessional.” 

“I know,” says Liam.  “Blame Louis, he used to do it to me constantly. Pretend like he found something really cool, then get me right in the face.  I fell for it every time, too.”  

Zayn shakes his head.  “So you know how it feels, and you still tried to do it to me. Disgraceful.” 

“I’m a monster,” Liam agrees. “Don’t I get any credit for not actually doing it?” 

“I don’t think so,” says Zayn, “In fact, I think you owe me a beer.  For almost pranking me.” 

“Do I?” Liam asks, smiling.  “Alright, I suppose you’re right.  That’s enough marine biology for one day.” 

“Or for a lifetime,” Zayn agrees, but he can’t stop himself from grinning.  They walk down the beach together, sand sizzling beneath Zayn’s bare feet. 

The sun beats down on his neck, and Zayn wishes he could take his shirt off without feeling self-conscious. Liam jogs ahead, climbing up the boat’s ladder.  

“Wanna sit up here?” he calls, and Zayn nods, following him up.  Liam’s digging in a compartment towards the back of the boat. 

“Bloody hot, isn’t it?” Liam says, tossing Zayn a beer. He wipes his forehead on the back of his wrist. 

“Thanks,” says Zayn, holding the cold can against his face.  

“Yeah, no problem,” says Liam. Without warning he’s pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it casually onto the captain’s chair. Zayn swallows hard, tearing his eyes away.

“Ah that’s better,” says Liam, flopping down on the cushioned seat and cracking open his own beer.  “Hey, will you toss me that bag?  I’m gonna get sunburned.”  

Zayn pushes it over to him with his foot. Liam pulls out a tube of sunscreen, squirting it into his hands and rubbing it over the curves and dips of his shoulders, down onto his chest.  Zayn stares determinedly at his feet.  This is literally the last thing he needs right now.  He was doing so well, too. 

“You should probably put some on too,” Liam advises. “At least on your face. Safety first, right?” 

“Right,” Zayn mumbles.  He looks up and Liam’s smiling at him, holding out the tube. 

“Would you mind doing my back? I can’t reach.” 

“Uh,” says Zayn.  Should he just throw himself overboard?  He should probably just throw himself overboard. “Sure.”  He shuffles across the deck to Liam, taking a lengthy swallow of beer.  It's going to be a long afternoon. 

*** 

The sun hangs heavy and orange in the sky, long shadows reaching across the boat, and Liam says, “Okay, dare.” 

“Hmm,” says Zayn, trying to think of something suitable.  The boat floor is hard under his back, Liam’s flannel bunched up like a pillow beneath his head. “I dare you to . . . hmm. I don’t know.  I can’t think of anything!”  

“You’re terrible at this,” says Liam, laughing. He’s sprawled on the floor next to Zayn, propped up on his elbow, smiling with his eyes scrunched up happily. 

“Fine, you think of something,” says Zayn. “If you’re so smart. Make your own dare.” 

“Okay,” says Liam.  “I dare myself to finish this beer.”  He does it, and throws the can in the plastic bag they’ve been using for rubbish.  “That was easy. Your turn.”  

“That was the worst dare ever,” Zayn protests. Liam just smiles, undisturbed, surveying the sky. 

“You should’ve give me a better one then. Wow, I can’t believe how dark it is already.”  

“Yeah,” says Zayn, looking up as well. “Look, the moon’s out.” He’s secretly disappointed. Who would’ve thought he’d have so much fun on a boat that he wouldn’t want to go back to dry land, where it’s safe? Nothing about this day makes sense.

“I guess we should go soon,” says Liam, chewing his lower lip.  Zayn half-shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.  

“I guess,” he says.  

“Or we could – not,” says Liam. “I mean, we don’t have to.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Uh,” says Liam, looking embarrassed, although Zayn’s not sure why.  “I have, like – sleeping bags and stuff.  If you want to camp out. I mean, I’m sure you probably don’t. It’s a stupid idea.” 

“No, it’s not stupid,” says Zayn carefully. “I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning. But doesn’t it get cold?” 

Liam shrugs.  “We can go in the cabin.  I’ve done it a million times with Louis.  It’s nice sleeping on the boat.  Kinda rocks you to sleep.”  

“Okay,” says Zayn.  He feels invincible, happy and slightly drunk.  He smiles at Liam, and Liam smiles back.  

“Okay,” repeats Liam.  “Boat sleepover it is.  Truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” says Zayn.  Liam looks him over thoughtfully.  

“Truth,” he says, “hmm.  Okay.  What’s the worst way you’ve gotten dumped?” 

“Oh god,” says Zayn, covering his face with his hands. He peeks through his fingers at Liam. “It’s actually really bad.” 

“Oh you have to tell me,” Liam urges, eyes brown and merry.  Zayn bites his lower lip. 

“Fine.  I once – I once got dumped by postcard.”  

“Wait.  What? In a _postcard_? Like, they – mailed it to you?”

“Yep,” says Zayn, “from a vacation, actually, that he was taking with his new –“ 

Oh shit.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  But Liam’s laughing incredulously, hand over his eyes.  

“Oh my god, that’s so horrible,” he says, “holy shit. I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be laughing.” 

“No, it’s fucking hilarious,” says Zayn, laughing too, in spite of himself.  Liam’s laughter is contagious, bubbly and charming.  “I didn’t think so at the time, obviously, but in retrospect – it’s pretty epic.”  

“I can’t believe someone would do that,” says Liam. “I can’t believe that right now, in this world, there is a real live person that would dump you like that.” 

“Believe it,” says Zayn wryly. “I was at uni when it happened. I had to pick it up from the mail center.  I’m pretty sure everyone who worked there had already read it, judging from the looks they gave me.” 

“Oh my god.  I got dumped over text before,” says Liam.  “Postcard is a thousand times worse.  What – am I allowed to ask what was on it?  Is that too painful to remember?” 

“Um,” says Zayn, “it was – like, a picture of a fancy car.”  

For some reason, it’s the funniest fucking thing he’s ever said.  Liam’s clutching his stomach, howling.  Zayn laughs until his ribs hurt.  It feels absurdly good to laugh about something that he'd cried over for a month.  

“Oh my god, a fancy _car_ ,” says Liam, “I think I’m actually crying.” 

“Me too,” says Zayn.  “I mean, how do you even pick out the kind of postcard you’re gonna use to break up with someone?  I’d love to know what was going through his head.”  

“God, I’m so sorry for making you relive this. That was a good story though. Thank you for sharing.” 

“You’re welcome,” says Zayn, feeling absurdly proud of himself.  “Did you really get dumped over text?” 

“Yes,” Liam admits.  “More than once, actually.  Is that embarrassing?  I’m embarrassed.”  

“It’s not embarrassing,” Zayn reassures him. “Besides, at least you have a girlfriend now.” 

Liam shrugs, turning over onto his back with his fingers laced behind his head.  “Kinda,” he says. 

“What do you mean _kinda_?” 

Liam snorts a little laugh, staring into the darkening sky.  “Nothing, it’s stupid. I just – I found out the other day – well, she told me she’s been seeing this other dude too.” 

“Really?  But I thought you guys were, like – “ 

“Exclusive?  Yeah, I thought so too.”  

“I’m sorry,” says Zayn, and Liam sits up, shrugging. He meets Zayn’s eyes for an instant and looks quickly away.  

“It’s not a big deal, really. I mean, we’re apart so much anyway – it makes more sense, y’know?  To have an open sort of thing.”

Zayn sits up too, folding his legs under him. “I’m sorry,” he says again, staunchly ignoring Harry’s voice in his head, yelling at him about implications. So what if Liam’s in an open relationship?  That doesn’t mean he wants anything with Zayn. 

“It’s alright,” says Liam with a funny little smile. “I mean – at least she told me, right?” 

“Were you mad?” Zayn asks.  

Liam shrugs.  “Not really.  I guess I kinda – saw it coming.”  He looks at Zayn with a weird, unreadable expression.  It’s only for an instant, then he’s looking away with a little shrug. “I don’t mind.” 

“Well that’s good,” Zayn says. Liam leans back onto his hands, smiling. 

“Is it my turn?  I choose dare.” 

“Not again,” Zayn complains, “I’m terrible at coming up with dares.” 

“You are,” Liam agrees.  “Should I just do my own?  I have one picked out already.”  

“No, I’ll think of one.” 

Liam is sitting quite close to him, still shirtless, his hair curly and damp from earlier when he’d jumped in the surf to cool off. He smells like coconuts and seawater. He raises his eyebrows at Zayn, smiling.

“I dare you to – hmm.”  Zayn meets Liam’s eyes, which are dark with amusement, crinkled at the edges.  Liam’s fingers are splayed over his, casual and friendly, like it’s nothing.  Zayn’s brain feels fuzzy.

“You should have a time limit,” Liam says with a little giggle.

“I can’t think of anything,” Zayn mumbles. Liam bites his lower lip, smiling like he’s thinking of a secret joke.  He raises a hand to Zayn’s face, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, the softest touch.  

“Should I just do my dare?” he asks. “I told you, I have one picked out.” 

“No,” says Zayn, trying to keep his tone light. Liam’s eyes are bright with amusement, lips full and pink and achingly close.  Zayn’s heart pounds out of control.  _Zayn Payne_ , teases Harry delightedly in his head. _Tell him to kiss you! He wants it too, look at his face. Dare him to push you down and rip your clothes off and-_

“Time’s up,” Liam says, slinging an arm companionably over Zayn’s shoulder.  “I think I’m just – are there winners in this game?  Can I just declare myself the winner by default?” 

“No,” says Zayn.  “Okay. Fine.  You win.” 

“Yes!” Liam stands up, a little wobbly, raising both hands to the sky.  “Champion!”

Zayn stands up too and Liam grabs him by the wrist, tugging him against his chest.  “Victory hug,” he announces. 

“That’s not a real thing,” Zayn protests, pulse pounding so hard in his throat he’s afraid he might have a stroke. Liam’s arms are wrapped solidly around him, strong and maddeningly warm.  

“Is so,” he says.  “S’in the official rulebook.” 

“More lies,” says Zayn, chin against Liam’s bare shoulder.  “You’ve been feeding me lies all day.”  

He feels small and protected, folded against Liam’s chest.  It’s so dumb. He links his hands together behind Liam’s lower back, resisting the urge to brush his lips against his skin. Liam probably wouldn’t want to hug him anymore if he did that.  It’s a friendly hug between friends.  Be cool.

“I’m sorry you got dumped in a postcard,” Liam says into Zayn’s hair.  “You deserve better than that.”  

“It’s okay,” says Zayn, trying to regulate his heartbeat. “I’m – over it. I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” 

“It’s okay,” says Liam, pulling back and looking at him with a goofy little smile.  “I’m over it.”  

They stare at each other for a long moment, the smile fading off of Liam’s face, replaced by a look of strange concentration. He looks almost like he’s trying to remember something.  Zayn struggles to breathe. The urge to kiss Liam rises in him again like a tidal wave.  But Liam doesn’t say anything, and his arms relax around Zayn.  His eyes drop to the side.  

“I’ll grab those sleeping bags,” he says, gesturing toward the cabin.  “Might as well get comfy.” 

“Okay,” says Zayn.  Without Liam’s arms around him, he suddenly feels small and cold. And it’s ridiculous, honestly, how he manages to long for something he’s never even had.  How he’s fallen in love with someone from a completely different world. It gets worse every day. Zayn shakes his head to clear it. He’s obviously tipsy. He needs to just stop thinking about things.  

“Here you go,” says Liam, trooping back onto the deck and unrolling a soft-looking blue sleeping bag.   Zayn plops down on it as Liam unrolls a black one right next to it. He’s put his t-shirt and flannel back on, arms rolled up to his elbows. 

“We can always go in if it gets cold,” he says.

“Okay,” says Zayn, lying back against the soft material.  The sky looks incredible – dark smoky clouds and vivid smudges of color, faint stars just barely visible.  Liam flops down next to him, sitting cross-legged, staring out over the water. 

“So I – I interviewed for a new job,” he says out of nowhere.  Zayn turns his head sideways to look at him, but Liam’s staring straight into the horizon. 

“Really?” he says, sitting up. “That’s cool.  What kind of job?” 

“Research and conservation,” says Liam, pulling his knees up to his chest, suddenly unable to keep still.  “It’s in the city.  I mean, I’d still have to take trips down here, but I’d be, like, working in a lab. My first interview was yesterday.” 

“Wait,” says Zayn.  “That’s why you were in the city yesterday? Louis said you were talking to the Navy about your project.” 

“Louis – doesn’t exactly know yet. I didn’t tell him where I was going. He looked at my presentation and just kind of assumed.  It wasn’t for the Navy, though, it was for the IUCN.”  His cheeks are tinged with pink, and Zayn feels a smile spreading over his face.

“Liam, that’s awesome.  That’s exactly what you want to do, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Liam says softly.  “I really hope they call me back.” 

“They will,” says Zayn with absolute certainty. “You were probably brilliant, and they’d be mad not to call you.” 

“I’m afraid I went overboard with the animal pictures,” Liam admits, and Zayn bursts out laughing. 

“You probably did,” he says.  “But isn’t the IUCN, like – the international university of containing –“ 

“The International Union for Conserving Nature.” 

“Right, so – they probably liked it.” 

“I hope so,” says Liam, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I mean, they were the ones who called me for an interview in the first place, so – but I’m just trying not to get my hopes up.  It's kind of a secret right now.  I haven't told anyone.” 

“I won't say anything,” says Zayn.  “That’s really great, Leeyum.”  In the back of his mind, he’s trying not to think about what it would mean if Liam moves to the city.  How empty and long his shifts at the diner would seem without Liam’s bright smile and ridiculous early morning good cheer.   

“Thanks,” says Liam softly, giving him a small smile. “You’re always so nice to me. It’s really – nice.” 

“You’re my friend,” Zayn says, blushing. Once again, he feels the familiar urge to cup the back of Liam’s neck and press their lips together, climb into his lap and feel those strong arms around his back again. “Besides, you’re nice to me too.  I had a great time today. Thanks for bringing me out here.” 

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” says Liam, knee bumping against Zayn’s.  “So you’re feeling creative? Gonna go to your studio tomorrow and bust out some art?” 

“Definitely,” says Zayn, and it’s actually true – he does feel ready to paint, for the first time in almost a month. When he closes his eyes he sees wet oil on canvas, a shimmering sunrise, white foamy surf, a colony of sand lizards, kind brown eyes.  “I can’t believe this worked.” 

“You faced down your fears,” says Liam, reaching out to touch his shoulder affectionately. “Now you just need to paint about it. Maybe.  Is that how these things work?  I’m just saying random stuff at this point.”  

“I have absolutely no idea how these things work,” answers Zayn honestly. It’s probably the truest thing he’s ever said.   _Your boy_ , echoes Louis' voice suddenly in his head, _your boy, your boy_.  Zayn presses a hand over his eyes, exhaling.  Liam watches him with a little smile, head cocked to the side.

"Don't worry.  I'm sure you'll figure it out."  


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry tries to be a good friend and Zayn finds his courage, but it might not be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry it took me half a century to upload this new chapter, I will try to be better about that from now on. Thanks for all the sweet comments and messages on tumblr, you guys are excellent motivators :)

“Zayn . . .” someone says softly, gentle fingers stroking across his cheek.  “Zaynie, wake up . . .” 

“Whazza,” Zayn mumbles sleepily, rubbing a hand across his face.  He opens his eyes slowly, warm and content, only to see Harry’s face about three inches away from his. 

“Hi,” says Harry. 

“Yauugh!” Zayn shrieks, scrambling to pull the blankets up.  “What the hell? What are you doing in my house?”

“The door was open,” Harry shrugs, pulling up his long legs to sit cross-legged on Zayn’s bed.  

“That doesn’t mean you have to – go in,” says Zayn, heart pounding.  “You have no concept of privacy, Styles.”  He wants to be surprised, but it’s hardly the first time Harry has done this. 

“Sorry,” says Harry insincerely. “It’s almost six, I thought you’d appreciate a wake-up call.  Also, you never answered any of my texts, which, honestly?  Pretty rude, Zayn.” 

“Not as rude as breaking into someone’s apartment!” 

“Fine,” Harry agrees, “we’re even.” 

“I’m not rude,” says Zayn, reaching for his phone. “Oh my god.  You sent me – _wow_ –twenty-nine messages?  That’s a lot. Even for you.”

“Well first off I thought you were dead,” says Harry. “I thought you’d drowned. What else am I supposed to think when you don’t answer texts for two straight days?  Secondly, I have something huge to tell you!” 

He flops down in bed next to Zayn, overtop the covers, a huge dopey grin on his face.  He may or may not be wearing lavender-scented perfume.  

“You smell like an old lady,” says Zayn, throwing an arm over his eyes.  There’s no way he’s going back to sleep at this point.  He might as well just accept it.   

“An old lady with a _boyfriend_ ,” shouts Harry, writhing next to Zayn, kicking his legs. “Can you believe it? We’re practically engaged. I’m getting married!”

He grabs Zayn around the neck, nuzzling disgustingly against his cheek like a puppy.  

“Okay, okay,” says Zayn, laughing. “I’m very – very happy for you. That’s fantastic, Hazza.” 

“You’ll be my man of honor, of course,” says Harry. “Is that what it’s called?   The one who does the speech?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zayn says honestly.  

“My _wedding_ ,” says Harry, boots tangled up in Zayn’s comforter.  Zayn purses his lips disapprovingly but doesn’t say anything. “Alright, now are you gonna tell me how your date went?” 

“It wasn’t a date,” Zayn says automatically, but his mouth feels suddenly dry.  He reaches for the water on his bedside table and takes a swallow. 

“Right,” says Harry.  “Of course it wasn’t.  You know what?  I’m not gonna argue with you about it – not today.  There’s too much other stuff going on. What are you gonna wear tonight?”

“Um,” says Zayn.  “I’m going – to paint?  I’m going to wear – regular clothes?” 

“You’re not painting tonight,” says Harry incredulously.  “What do you mean, you’re painting tonight?  We have the party!”  

“What party?”

“The _party_ ,” Harry repeats slowly, as though that will help Zayn understand. 

“ _What_ party,” says Zayn, imitating Harry’s tone.  “Is it because you’re getting married?” 

“No, Zayn!  Liam didn’t tell you?  They finally dated the sub.  It’s from nineteen-forty-something.  I can’t remember.  But they’re saying it was in World War 2!  If they can ID it, Lou says they’re gonna be famous.” 

“Seriously?” Zayn asks.  “Wow.  That’s cool.” 

“Yeah, apparently it’s a really big deal. There was a news crew in the diner today! You missed it. I gave an interview.” Harry puffs up proudly, like a bullfrog.

“Did you really,” Zayn murmurs, fervently thankful he wasn’t there.  Who, he wonders, decided it was a good idea to interview _Harry_ about wreck diving?  And why? He probably spent the entire time talking about how good Louis looks in a wetsuit.  

“Yep,” says Harry.  “They’re getting a grant for better equipment so they can get more stuff out. Can you believe it? Louis’ so excited.” 

“So they’re having a – what, a submarine party?” 

“Yep,” says Harry.  “And you’re coming, obviously.  Right?”

“I – guess so,” says Zayn.  He’d been planning to go to the studio all night and get some more painting done.  He’d managed a lot this morning after getting back from the boat, and it was intoxicating – it felt like sheer relief, the thoughtless joy of his brush sliding effortlessly across the canvas.   It was _fun_ in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.

“Liam will be there,” Harry coos, batting his eyelashes at Zayn.  “At least, I assume he will. It’s at his house.” 

“That’s nice,” says Zayn, trying to hide the way his heart leaps at the mention of Liam’s name.  He remembers vividly the feeling of Liam’s chest against his cheek, strong and warm and smelling of sunscreen.   He slides out of bed, searching for a t-shirt.  “I bet he’s excited.”  

Harry watches him with a disgusted look. “Zayn, seriously, I tried not to say anything, but can you – can you just stop?” 

“Stop what?  I’m not doing anything!” 

“You guys – you practically – you slept on a boat with him.  It’s like, the most hideously romantic thing you’ve ever done.  Don’t tell me nothing happened.” 

“I hate to break your heart, but it’s true,” says Zayn, rustling around in his bureau for a cardigan.  

“Zayn,” says Harry, waiting while Zayn tugs the jumper over his head.  “Zayn.” He grabs both of Zayn’s hands and stares him down.  “Look in my eyes and tell me that nothing happened.”  

“Um,” says Zayn, staring down at Harry, who’s gazing intently up at him with his eyes huge and skeptical. “I don’t – nothing happened, Haz, really.”

“You’re lying,” Harry says instantly. “I can always tell when you lie. The side of your mouth goes weird.” 

“It does _not_ ,” Zayn yelps, trying to tug his hands out of Harry’s clammy, lavender-scented grasp.   “Get out of my house.” 

“Nope,” says Harry, holding fast to his hands, “not until you tell me.  Did he kiss you? Did you kiss him? Did you _rock the boat_?” 

“Oh my god,” mutters Zayn.  “No kissing.  No rocking. It was – nothing. He hugged me.  That’s all.  We shared a – friendly hug.” 

“Yeah, right.  It wasn’t friendly.  He wants you. Did you stare soulfully into his eyes?” 

“Maybe,” Zayn admits, finally pulling free. He crosses his arms. “But only a little.” 

“Zayn, you minx!” Harry crows delightedly. 

“Well, and also – ah, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Tell me,” says Harry at once. “Tell me right now.”

“He said – I guess the thing with his girlfriend – they have an open relationship?  So there’s that.” 

Harry jumps off the bed, gaping at him. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not – I still don’t think he’s – you know. It was just something he mentioned.”

“Zayn,” says Harry, snatching up both of his hands again.  He fixes Zayn with his classic I-love-you-but-you’re-an-absolute-moron-and-what-I’m-about-to-say-is-for-your-own-good-so-listen-up look.  Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“Listen to me, Zayn,” says Harry, speaking very slowly. “I’ve tried to hold off on beating you over the head with this, but I just can’t – I can’t do it anymore. Liam – is – into you.” 

“He’s absolutely not,” Zayn tries to protest, but Harry shushes him.

“He took you sailing on his boat –“ 

“It wasn’t sailing, it was –“ 

“He made you like _nine thousand_ _sandwiches_ , according to Louis, and nearly had a breakdown about what to pack for lunch because he didn’t know what you like –“

“Harry –“

“You hugged, there was soulful staring, and then he went out of his way to inform you that he’s technically available? Plus your cozy little boat sleepover, like, are you fucking serious, Zayn?  He’s practically throwing himself at you.”

“He’s not,” says Zayn, crossing his arms, “it wasn’t like that. You weren’t there.”    

“Zayn,” says Harry gently, eyes unusually soft. He tugs Zayn’s arms apart, taking his hands again.  Zayn narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

“What?” 

Harry’s oddly silent for a long moment, just watching him, infuriatingly sympathetic.  

“What?” asks Zayn again, masking his vulnerability with impatience. 

“Just tell him,” says Harry finally. “It’s so – I’ve tried, you know, not to interfere –“

“If making loud double entendres every time he comes into the diner is your version of not interfering –“ 

“It’s just so, you know, it’s _hard_ , Zaynie, to watch you guys dance around each other like this, when you’re so obviously infatuated –“ 

“Infatuated?” 

“And I’ve spoken to Lou about it, and he said –“ 

“You did _not_ ,” says Zayn, horrified.  

“Relax, he’s not gonna say anything,” says Harry, “but he – we just think, maybe, it’s time you guys – talked it out. Y’know?”

“Talked it out,” repeats Zayn. “We?  You guys are a _we_ , now?” 

“Yep,” beams Harry.  “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier?  We’re an _item_. You’re my man of honor.” 

“I can’t deal with this right now,” mutters Zayn. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Just tell him how you feel,” says Harry again, eyes big and earnest, unusually focused for once.  Why can’t he stay this on-task when Zayn tries to talk to him about things that are actually important?  

“I said I’d think about it, okay?” 

Harry opens his mouth to say some other exasperating thing, but Zayn’s phone buzzes, and he dives for it. 

“Oh, _now_ you’re answering texts, I see how it is,” says Harry. “Who is it?” 

“No one,” says Zayn, tilting the screen away from him.

“It’s Liam, isn’t it,” says Harry, throwing himself dramatically on Zayn’s bed.  “Oh my god, you’re insufferable.  See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.  Why won’t you just admit that you’re, like, in love with him?” 

“Because I’m not,” Zayn mumbles, unlocking his phone. 

**Hi zaynnn party 2nite at my house if your free? short notice I know sry**  

“What did he say?” 

**Sounds fun x** Zayn replies, pressing send before he can overanalyze it. His heart is pounding wildly for some stupid reason.  The colors in his room seem suddenly brighter – a burnt orange scarf pooled at the foot of his bed, the multicolored smear of his Flaming Lips poster, the vivid blue spots on Harry’s shirt.  Zayn feels giddy and alive. 

“He asked if I want to come over and _eat some sandwiches_ ,” he says, lacing his voice with innuendo and giving Harry a knowing look.  Harry gasps.

“No he didn’t!” 

“No, he didn’t.  You’re right.”  

“Dammit Zayn!” 

**Yayyy :D** Liam sends.  Then, almost immediately after: **Can’t wait to see u :)**

“What did he really say?” Harry asks.

Zayn hands him the phone.  “He said, uh – what do you think of that?”

Harry squints at the screen, then looks up at Zayn with a dazzling smile.  “I think he can’t wait to see you,” he says.  “Can I dress you this time?”

“ _No_ ,” says Zayn, and Harry pouts.  

“You never let me dress you anymore. It’s like we’re not even friends.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” says Zayn, feigning annoyance, but grateful for the distraction.  The last thing he wants to think about is confessing his feelings to Liam Payne. And never mind the way his heart swells with nervous joy when he does.  

Later that night, he’s wishing he’d taken Harry up on the offer.  No matter what he tries on, it doesn’t feel right.  Why is he so worried? It’s just a dumb house party. He finally settles on a white shirt printed with abstract black slashes, and tight black pants.

He’s been staring critically at his own reflection for ten minutes, wondering if the way his hair sticks up on the side is cute or impossibly dorky (he’s leaning towards dorky), when the memory washes over him once again. And this time he finds himself unable to push it away.  He’s fully overtaken by the feeling of Liam pressed against him, the smell of seawater and tropical-scented sunblock, the undeniable thrill of looking into deep brown eyes from so close. His heart tries to leap at the thought of seeing Liam tonight. 

Maybe Harry’s right. Alone, staring himself down in the mirror, it’s easier to admit.  But he has some amount of chill left – doesn’t he? 

_No,_ he realizes ruefully, checking his phone for the thousandth time. No messages, not from Liam or even Harry, which is surprising.  No, his chill is gone.  He is well and truly fucked over Liam.  A decision folds over Zayn before he even realizes it’s happening, soft but implacable.  He can do this.  If he can find the courage to start painting again, he can tell Liam how he feels.  it was Liam who helped him find that confidence in the first place, anyway.

On the way over, Zayn plans what he’s going to say. It doesn’t have to big this big thing, right?  He’s gonna keep it simple and to the point.  _Liam, I’m attracted to you_.  Well, that sounds kinda clinical.  What about _Liam, I have a huge crush on you?_   No, that makes him sound like a twelve year old.  Maybe he should try to be more romantic.  _Liam, I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, and sometimes I mess up people’s orders because I’ m thinking about kissing you—_

No, no, _no_. It’s all wrong. But before he has it worked out in his head, he’s at Liam and Louis’ front porch.  The yard is lit with hanging lanterns, and a few people Zayn doesn’t recognize are smoking on the upstairs balcony.  Zayn’s heart sparks with anxiety, but he keeps the resolve to talk to Liam clenched in his mind.   He doesn’t know what to say, but he’s going to say it.  

“Zayn!” yells Harry from the porch, materializing out of the crowd to tug Zayn inside.  He’s clearly half-drunk already, curls hanging prettily over his cheekbones, shirt unbuttoned almost to his bellybutton.  The foyer is a mess of lights and people, nobody that Zayn recognizes.  He’d thought this was going to be a small, quiet affair, but no.  It’s a fucking party.  In retrospect, Zayn’s not sure what else he expected from Louis. He wonders how Liam feels about it. With any luck, though, he’ll know soon enough.  

“Hi,” he says, and Harry grabs his hand. 

“I’m so glad you came,” he says – well, yells, really, because it’s quite loud – with a huge grin, green eyes overbright. Music thumps heavily from somewhere in the house, shaking the floor, and Zayn can feel the bassline deep in his chest.  “You look – really sober.”

“Uh, that’s because I am,” says Zayn, and Harry bites his lip, still grinning.  A group of people twist around them on their way out to the porch, hands and shoulders and hair, and Zayn flattens himself against a coatrack. 

“I mean you look good, obviously,” Harry’s shouting over the music, “you look – fucking fantastic.  Can I borrow that shirt?  Not right now, obviously, but –“ 

“Sure – so where’s –“ 

“You just look like you could use a shot. Am I right?  I know I’m right.” 

“You’re right,” Zayn admits.  There’s no point denying it.  

“Come on then.  I’m so glad you’re here.  We’re gonna have the best time.” 

Zayn lets Harry tug him down a small, crowded hallway – no Liam in sight – into the kitchen, where there are blessedly fewer people. It’s small and neat, empty and strangely peaceful even as a loud drunken cheer swells from the other room. There are clean dishes piled up to dry next to the sink, and a few herb planters line the windowsill. Basil, thyme, pineapple sage, Greek oregano.  Zayn finds himself smiling for no reason.  

“Vodka, whiskey or rum?” Harry’s saying, pawing through the assortment of bottles on the counter.  “We’ve also got – hmm – some kind of, like, cotton-candy flavored thing – I wouldn’t recommend that though –“  

“Hey babe,” says another voice, and Zayn looks up to see Louis snaking his arms around Harry from behind, kissing his neck. He’s obviously semi-smashed as well, judging from the way his hands creep up the hem of Harry’s shirt, exposing the floral tattoos on his lower belly.  Zayn clears his throat loudly. 

“Oh, hi Malik,” says Louis, completely unfazed. He nuzzles into the back of Harry’s neck, pushing his hair aside, and Harry lets out a little moan, still holding a liquor bottle in each hand.  

“Harry, I thought we were doing shots,” Zayn says. 

“Oh, right,” Harry says, twisting around to kiss Louis on the chin, “so rum, then?  What do you think, Lou?” 

“Rum,” agrees Louis, eyes still locked on Harry. “Because we’re pirates tonight. We found the buried treasure!” 

He pumps both fists triumphantly in the air. 

“Congratulations,” says Zayn, trying not to stare at the way Lou has curled himself around Harry’s long body, as Harry struggles to pour three shots.  “Hey, so speaking of that – where’s Liam?” 

Harry and Lou exchange a look, so subtle that Zayn almost misses it.  But he doesn’t.

“Uh,” says Harry.  “Did you not – I texted you earlier, I guess you didn’t – get it yet?” 

“No,” says Zayn slowly.  Why is Harry looking at him like that? And Louis’ doing it too, a weird sympathetic grimace flashing quickly over his face, so fast Zayn might’ve imagined it. What’s going on? But before Zayn can voice the question, Lou’s shoving a sloshing shot glass into his hand, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Zayn, what are we toasting to?” he asks belligerently. 

“It’s your party,” Zayn protests. Harry’s giving him a tight little smile, eyes slightly unfocused.  

“Yes, and I demand that you invent a toast for us!”

“Fine,” says Zayn.  “To – new beginnings.” 

Harry and Louis watch each other for a minute, both perfectly still, and Zayn wonders if they’re about to kiss. He thinks of Liam, suddenly, painfully, Liam’s soft pink lips, and how they’d feel pressed against his own. 

“To new beginnings,” Harry echoes, smiling, and the moment is broken.  Louis takes his shot and slams the glass down on the counter, blinking.  The rum burns Zayn’s throat, but he likes the way it blooms bright and golden in his belly.  It’s reassuring, somehow.  

“Here, have another,” says Harry, pouring a second shot and pushing it across the counter to Zayn. 

“I don’t know,” says Zayn, but he downs it anyway, already half-drunk on his own courage.  It feels much easier to think about now.  Liam is here, in this house, and Zayn’s already made up his mind. He’s going to talk to him tonight, regardless of consequences. 

And maybe – just maybe, Harry is right, and Liam does feel the same way.  Zayn feels dizzy, suddenly, from both the alcohol and the memory of Liam’s face close to his, Liam’s hands on his waist.  Maybe tonight’s the night he’s finally going to know what it’s like to slide his tongue between those pink lips. 

“So, where’s Liam?” he asks again. “He’s here, isn’t he?” 

“Ye-es,” says Louis, giving Harry a weird look. “He’s here.  Um.  He’s –“ 

“We don’t know where he is,” Harry supplies, elbowing Louis in the ribs.  “Zayn, d’you want a cigarette?” 

“You don’t even smoke,” says Zayn, confused. 

“Well, I – I want to talk.”

“We just talked earlier, though.”

“I do,” says Louis.  “I want a cigarette.  Come on, Zayn, let’s go outside.” 

“No,” says Zayn, surprising himself with his forcefulness.  “No, I want to talk to Liam.” 

“Zayn,” says Harry, eyes bright and earnest, like they had been earlier, but – different somehow. 

“You want – you want to talk to Liam? Now?”  

“Yes,” says Zayn simply.  “That’s what I came here to do.” 

“But –“

“Can you just tell me where he is?” 

“He’s in the living room,” Harry blurts out. “But look, Zayn, I texted you –“ 

“Okay hang on, I’ll talk to you in a minute,” says Zayn, because obviously whatever Harry texted him can wait. Harry sends him about five hundred content-free texts per day.  “I’m doing it, okay?  I’m doing what you told me to do.  Just be proud of me, can’t you?”

“I am proud of you,” he hears Harry say as he leaves the kitchen, squeezing past a group of people crowded around an iPad in the hallway.  

Louis and Liam have a nice house. It’s charmingly cluttered, clean without feeling cold.  Zayn catches a glimpse of a photo on the wall – Louis and Liam as teenagers, each holding up one side of an enormous trophy.  Zayn feels an unhindered swell of pride.  Liam is fucking _good_ at what he does. He’ll be good at whatever he tries to do, whether or not he gets this new job, and Zayn wants to tell him. Zayn wants to tell him a lot of things, actually.

He rounds a corner and there’s Liam, across the room, sitting in an armchair.  He starts to call out a greeting, but the words freeze in his throat. His heart beats faster until it’s all he can hear, a rush in his ears, the liquor hitting him suddenly like a train. He feels surprisingly calm.

There’s a small, pretty girl perched on Liam’s lap, with masses of curly dark hair springing out around her head. She’s talking animatedly to someone sitting on the floor, one arm around Liam’s neck.  Liam’s smiling slightly, head cocked as he listens to her speak. Zayn realizes, suddenly, that he’s staring, but he can’t tear his eyes away.  

It’s Danielle.  Liam’s – girlfriend.  He’s never seen her in person before but he knows the shape of her face, the way her mouth quirks to the side as she makes a joke.  The guy on the floor laughs, and Liam smiles politely.  As Zayn watches, she leans back against Liam, pressing a quick kiss to his throat.  Liam ducks his face against hers, one large hand on her shoulder. 

Then, to his horror, Liam looks right at him. His mouth falls open in surprise, and his hand falls from Danielle's shoulder.  He might be lifting it to wave.  Zayn doesn't stay to find out. 

He backs away, almost stumbling over his feet. It’s ridiculous but he needs to get out of here, now.  What the fuck did he expect, though?  The rum swirls through his veins, magnifying his shock, as his heart clenches into a small, painful knot. 

Open relationship or not, Liam has a girlfriend, and here she is.  Gorgeous and solid, kissing Liam casually because she’s allowed to, because she’s done it a thousand times and it’s well within her rights. The words he was planning loom large and humiliating in his mind, and he crushes them violently.  Zayn turns away, twisting through the crowd while his heart beats loud and painful in his ears.  His cheeks feel hot, hands sweaty, and he balls them into fists as he fights to reach the front door. 

“Zayn, wait!” he hears from behind him, but he doesn’t stop, pushing into the hallway and out onto the porch. He’s not mad.  He’s not upset.  He’s not jealous, or heartbroken, or any of those petty emotions that try to well up sharp and unwelcome behind his eyes.  What the _fuck_ did he expect? _Liam has a girlfriend_.  He’s known it for ages.  It’s not a big deal, not a big deal, not a big deal.  He keeps the chant up until he’s well up the street, away from the thumping drumbeat and merry party chatter, alone on the dock under the nearly-full moon.

He stares out into the dark water, fumbling with his cigarettes.  It’s okay to be wrong. It’s what he suspected all along, anyway – how could Liam be into _Zayn_ with a girl like that sitting on his lap?  Zayn obviously just read into things too much.  And Harry hadn’t helped, getting him all wound up, putting the idea in his mind that maybe Liam -- well, it doesn’t matter.  It’s fine. Nothing has changed. In fact, it’s probably a good thing – he came perilously close to embarrassing himself horribly tonight, and he didn’t.

Liam never even has to know.  

Zayn stands at the dock for a long time after his cigarette is finished, watching the boats bob slowly on the calm water, ignoring the tears that sting in the corners of his eyes.  It's not a big deal, he thinks once again.  But he's lying to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

“So,” says Harry, leaning against the counter, watching Zayn wipe down the already-spotless tables, “I guess you’re just never gonna talk to me again?” 

Zayn doesn’t answer, scrubbing furiously at an invisible spot on table 12.  

“I mean I understand,” says Harry, “although I did try to warn you, just to be fair –“ 

“I’m not mad at you, Haz,” says Zayn shortly. “I already said that. I just don’t really feel like talking.” 

“No, you’re mad at me,” says Harry knowledgeably. Zayn has a very distinctive I’m-pissed-but-I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it face. And he’s doing it now. Harry weighs his options: keep pressing Zayn outright (which will probably end with a getting a dishrag flung at his head), leave it alone (boring), or find a more subtle way to do it. He’s still not 100% sure what happened. Well, okay, he kinda knows. And he understands why Zayn’s upset. But still.  It’s important to reach out to friends when you’re feeling down, Harry reasons.  And Zayn isn’t great in the “reaching out” department.  Sometimes he needs a little nudge. 

The key is to be subtle, thinks Hary.   Understated.  Refined.  “So did Liam text you yet?” he blurts out.  Zayn’s ears go pink. 

“Harry, I swear to god –“ 

“No no,” says Harry, backpedaling. Subtlety never has been a strength of his. “I just mean, Louis said – that Liam was a little – um – that he wanted to talk to you, but you kinda – split really fast –“

“There’s nothing to talk about,” says Zayn, finally throwing the rag in the sink and leaning against the counter with a sigh. He looks good in his apron.  Harry is momentarily distracted wondering if there’s a way he could tie his to make it hang like Zayn’s does.  

“I was wrong about Liam.  Just like I’m wrong about lots of things all the time. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Wrong,” says Harry, “wait, what? You weren’t wrong. Listen.  Louis said Danielle wasn’t even supposed to be there. She came as a surprise. And, much more importantly, he said –“ 

“I don’t care,” says Zayn wearily. It’s past noon, just after the lunch rush.  This is normally when Zayn goes outside to chainsmoke next to the grocery store loading dock. But right now he’s just flopped against the counter, looking miserable.  Harry walks over and wraps him in a hug before he can protest.

“I love you Zaynie,” he says, muffled against Zayn’s black t-shirt.  It smells like butter. Yum.  “I don’t think you were wrong.  I think you guys just need to talk it out.” 

“There’s just –“ says Zayn, his voice a little softer now. “It’s just like, there’s nothing to talk about, innit?  Liam’s got a girlfriend.” 

“Kind of,” says Harry. 

“He does!  Open relationship or not, he’s still – not available. You know?  And I’ve got no right, like, intruding into their relationship.” 

“Maybe he’s confused,” Harry supplies. “Maybe he just needs – a push in the right direction.”

Zayn laughs hollowly.  “Yeah, like what?  What am I supposed to say?  Hey Liam, I know you’re straight and have a girlfriend, but – wanna break up with her and date me instead?” 

“Not a bad start—” 

“Shut up, Haz.  I just need to get over it.” 

“Your premise is flawed anyway, because Liam’s _not_ straight,” says Harry, rolling his eyes.  “He’s – Zayn, please. Do straight guys cuddle each other on boats?”

“How am I supposed to know?” 

“They don’t,” says Harry, trying not to get distracted by the imagery.  It’s possible that they do.  Harry should investigate.      

“Well either way, it’s ridiculous to think that he would be into me.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s clear that he isn’t.  And he and Danielle are obviously quite happy together, so I’m just gonna – back off.“ 

“But Lou says –“

Zayn groans.  “I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested in what Lou says. Or what Liam says, for that matter.” 

“He’s been texting you.” 

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve got my ways,” Harry says mysteriously. Actually it was a wild guess. Liam seems like the kind of person who wants to set things right as soon as possible.  “How many times?  Did you answer him?” 

“A few, and not yet,” says Zayn, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “I haven’t read them yet. I’m going out for a cigarette.” 

“Why don’t you just leave early?” suggests Harry. “Go, like – I dunno. Take some time for yourself. Do stuff you like. It’s not like anybody’s gonna come in.” 

“I dunno,” says Zayn, looking around the empty restaurant.  “I don’t want Mel to get mad.”  

“Mel’s on vacation,” says Harry. “He won’t ever have to know. I can take care of everything.”

“Are you sure?” Zayn’s eyes are wide and worried. Harry loves him so much. He wants to kiss him all over his face like a puppy, but he restrains himself. 

“Yeah.  Go do weird artist things.  Stare broodily at the clouds or whatever.” 

“I don’t stare broodily at clouds.” 

“Well, it’s a great day to start. There are some really good ones out today.”

“Alright,” says Zayn slowly, untying his apron. “But – text me if it gets busy, okay? I’ll come back.” 

“Wait,” says Harry, “there’s one condition.” 

“What?” asks Zayn warily.  “If it’s ‘talk to Liam’ or something, I’m –“ 

“No,” says Harry, “bring me a veggie burger later. With parmesan. Please?” 

“Oh,” says Zayn.  “Yeah. Sure.”  He crooks a little smile at Harry, opening the front door.  “Thanks Haz.”

“I love you Zayner!” Harry shouts out the door after him.  Then he checks his phone. Lou just texted him.

 **how did the talk go? xx**  

 **he’s really upset** , Harry texts back.  **Sent him home.  You guys still coming in ?** He pauses for a moment then writes **, I LOVEEEE YOOOUUUUUU <3**

Subtlety was really, _really_ never Harry’s strong suit. 

Louis and Liam troop in about half an hour later, Louis with a wide grin and Liam looking like death warmed over. 

“Um,” says Harry.  “You – okay, Payno?”  

Liam gives a one-shoulder shrug, avoiding Harry’s eyes. It’s very uncharacteristic. 

“He’s fine,” says Louis.  “He better be.  We’re diving tomorrow morning, and he’s gonna ID our war sub. Isn’t that right, Liam?”

“I’m not diving tomorrow,” mutters Liam. “I’ve got a meeting.” 

“Not if you cancel it,” says Louis cheerfully. Then, to Harry, “What’s for lunch, sunshine?” 

“Whatever you want,” replies Harry, grinning. He resists the urge to bat his eyelashes and fails.  Louis bites his lower lip.

Liam orders chicken soup and eats it in silence. Harry wonders where Danielle is. Did she only stay for one night? Seemed like a bit of a far trip for that.  Louis chatters away about possibilities for the sub.  They’re leaning towards calling it a German u-boat.  One of the guys found a battered spoon with what looked like German engraved on the back of the handle.  But it was hard to tell.  Liam doesn’t say a word.  

Finally, he pushes his chair back. “I’ve gotta – I’m going to the gym. Thanks for lunch, Louis.” 

“No prob,” says Lou, patting him on the arm. “Feel better, buddy. This too shall pass.”   

Liam gives Harry a little wave, eyes sweeping the empty restaurant one more time.  Is he looking for Zayn?  Harry feels a small pang of guilt for sending Zayn home when he knew Liam was probably coming in. But clearly Zayn wasn’t ready to talk. 

“Zayn’s – off today, I guess?”

 “Yeah,” says Harry.  “We, uh, we switched shifts.” 

“Oh,” says Liam.  He looks like he wants to say something else.  But then he just says, “Bye Harry,” with a little wave. 

“Bye Liam,” says Harry.  “Good luck with your – fitness.”  

“Thanks,” says Liam over his shoulder. The bell jangles behind him. 

“Jeez,” says Harry, as soon as Liam’s out of earshot. “What the – is he okay? What the fuck?”

“They broke up,” says Louis, without preface, as though it explains everything.  Which, it kinda does. 

“Him and Danielle?”

“Yeah.  Last night.  I don’t know what happened. I just found out this morning.” 

“Uh oh,” says Harry, mind racing ahead. “Was it because of – you know –“ 

“I have no idea,” says Louis. “And he won’t tell me. I can’t say I’m upset, though. He’s been sulking over her for like a full year now.  Things never went back to normal with them after she hooked up with that London dude.”

“Hm,” Harry says, taking Lou’s plate and putting it in the sink.  Zayn would wash it right away, but Zayn’s not here.  And Harry does things a little different.  

Louis shrugs.  “And I can’t – honestly, I wash my hands of this.  I can’t talk any sense into him.  And he’s all upset because he thinks Zayn hates him –“

“Hate is a strong word –“

“It’s the one he used.  Repeatedly.  My little drama queen,” Louis says fondly.  “Zayn’s alright, though?” 

“I think he just feels – led on. I dunno.  Zayn doesn’t like to talk about his feelings. He definitely doesn’t hate Liam though. He’s like – well, he probably wouldn’t want me to say.  But he definitely doesn’t hate him.” 

“Those fuckers are perfect for each other,” says Louis. “They can be all mopey and tight-lipped and stubborn together.”

“That would be nice,” says Harry. He glances around the empty restaurant. “So, being as how I’m in charge for the day, how would you like – a private tour?”  He bites his lower lip seductively, giving Louis his best coy look. 

“That would be superb, Styles,” says Lou primly. He clambers promptly over the counter and presses against Harry, lips against his throat.  Harry shivers. 

“Can we start in the back room?” 

“Well, technically there is no back room,” says Harry, “but it all turns into a back room if I lock the door –“

He does exactly that, flipping the sign around to “Back in Fifteen Minutes!!” scrawled in Mel’s atrocious writing. Then he launches himself at Louis, knocking them both back against the counter.  Louis presses hungrily against him.  His mouth tastes like pickles, which shouldn’t be a turn-on, but somehow is.

Mel never has to know, and neither does Zayn. 

***

Zayn has never actually stared broodily at a cloud in his life, and he’s not about to start now.  He definitely wants to stare broodily at something though. It’s not a painting day, no matter how bad he’d like to lose himself in the colorful swirl of canvas and oil paints. He can tell that it would just be another hour of staring uselessly at a half-finished piece, before giving up. Might as well avoid it altogether. 

He’s smoking a cigarette on the boardwalk when he hears someone say his name.  He looks up, squinting against the sunlight.  It’s Niall, wearing a black and white striped shirt, shifting his weight back and forth.  Great. Exactly what Zayn needs to improve his mood.  Maybe Niall will just ignore him.  Zayn tries to look unapproachable.  

“Can I sit down?” Niall asks. 

Actually, the absolute last thing Zayn wants right now is for Niall to sit down.  He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, much less make stilted conversation with someone who doesn’t even like him.  

“Sure,” says Zayn, already regretting it. Niall sits, pulling out a pack of Lucky Strikes.  He lights one with a match, shaking out the flame and tossing it onto the pavement. Zayn lights a cigarette of his own, feeling defensive.  Why can’t everyone just leave him alone? 

“I’m glad I found you,” says Niall after a moment, without preamble, like he was reading Zayn’s mind. 

“Um, excuse me?” 

“I – I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“Oh,” says Zayn carefully.  What the fuck is this day?  

“I know you might think,” starts Niall, then stops, flicking ash over the edge of the pier.  “I know I haven’t been the friendliest to you.  But it’s not because I don’t like you.” 

“Oh,” says Zayn.  “Well that’s – um, cool.”  Where the fuck is this coming from?  Is he supposed to say anything else?  _I don’t hate you either?_ But before he has time to think too hard about it, Niall’s continuing. 

“It’s just that Liam’s one of my best mates,” he says, staring contemplatively out over the water.  It’s a beautiful day, spring verging into summer, and the horizon is filled with seagulls and sailboats.  “And he gets hurt easy, y’know?  He’s – he’s got a big heart.”

Zayn stays silent, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. Or why Niall’s even telling him this.

“Yeah,” he says slowly.  “He does.” 

“I just feel kinda protective sometimes, that’s all,” says Niall.  “You know, after what happened with Dani last year – Liam was all fucked up over that. And he kept saying that they worked through it, but obviously – that’s not true.  I’d just, I’d hate to see him get hurt again.”

 _What’s that got to do with me?_ Zayn wants to ask.  And it sure seemed like Liam and Danielle had managed to work things out. Instead he says, “Oh. Okay.”  What does he mean, they obviously hadn’t worked through it? 

Niall regards him openly, blonde hair ruffling in the soft salty breeze.  A few joggers pass them, breathless and colorful.  

“He really likes you,” says Niall finally. “And that’s why I – wasn’t sure about you. But I was wrong. You’re a nice guy, Zayn.”

“Um, thanks,” says Zayn automatically. His head feels a few sizes too small. What did Niall mean? Why was he saying any of this? “I really like him too.” 

“Well,” says Niall.  His blue eyes bore into Zayn’s, and Zayn drops his gaze. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

 _I tried to_ , Zayn almost says, but what’s the point?  And why does everyone seem to know about his crush on Liam? He thinks darkly of Harry. “We’re friends,” says Zayn carefully. “He knows I like him.” 

“Sure,” says Niall, giving him a loaded look. He flicks his spent cigarette over the side of the pier.  Zayn thinks Liam probably wouldn’t appreciate that.  “Well, alright then. Good t’see ya, Zayn. I’ve got work to do.” 

“Alright,” says Zayn, watching as Niall stands up, stretching.  What the fuck was that all about? 

“Might want to give him a call, though, if you’re such good friends,” says Niall, pausing.  “I think he’d appreciate t’hear from you.” 

“Oh?” 

Niall gives him a long, searching look, like he’s deciding whether or not to say something.  Zayn feels small and confused. 

“Yeah,” he says finally.  Zayn opens his mouth to ask – why?  So Liam can let him down properly?  He wishes furiously that Niall didn’t know anything about this.

“See you around, Zayn.”

“Bye,” says Zayn, watching Niall walk away. His head swims and he feels almost guilty, although he’s not sure for what.  No matter what the situation is, Zayn’s fucking – he’s embarrassed, okay? And honestly, he feels a little led on. He told Harry that it wasn’t Liam’s fault, but it is a little bit, okay?  He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to feel.  Zayn blushes when he thinks of how badly he wanted Liam to kiss him on the boat, and the things he’d planned to say at the party. It’s his fault, it’s Liam’s fault, it’s both of them and neither of them.  

And there’s no way he’s texting Liam. At least not right now. He can’t. 

Zayn doesn’t feel like going home, but he finds himself walking that direction anyway.  He has nowhere else to go.  It’s strange not to be working in the middle of the afternoon like this. But as he rounds the corner to his street, he notices something strange – there’s someone sitting on his front steps. Someone with sandy brown hair and dark tattoos up his forearms. 

It’s Liam.  Of course it is.  Because his life’s a fucking joke.  Zayn stops in his tracks like a cartoon character.  

Liam stands up, rubbing the back of his head. “Hey,” he calls. 

Zayn’s heart beats furiously. Should he walk away? No, that’s childish. But what the hell is he going to say? What does Liam even want? He stays silent as Liam walks down the steps towards him.  His eyes are a little red.  Zayn wonders if he’s been crying.  

“Hey,” Liam says again, and his voice sounds a little weird. A little broken. But he’s watching Zayn with purpose. 

“Hey,” says Zayn, keeping his voice neutral. 

“Um,” says Liam, “I just came to say, that, um -- I’m sorry.”

Zayn’s anger deflates almost instantly, and he feels ashamed.  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he mutters, cheeks aflame, staring at his shoes. Is that true?  He’s not sure.

To his utter surprise, Liam reaches out and tilts his chin up.  His chest rises and falls quickly, and Zayn watches him with wide eyes.  His fingers linger on Zayn’s face, before falling to his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry anyway,” says Liam, looking down into his eyes, large and honest.  “I don’t want to make things hard on you.  I didn’t mean to, like – I don’t know.”

“What are you talking about?” Zayn asks, resisting the urge to twist his face away.  He knows exactly what Liam’s talking about, but he wishes he didn’t. Liam’s trying to apologize for leading him on, for getting his hopes up when there was nothing between them. And if that’s the case, why the fuck is Liam touching him like this?  He doesn’t want Liam’s pity affection.  Like a consolation prize, or something.  Why does everything have to be so hard and complicated _all the time_? 

Liam looks around.  A few kids are riding bikes down the street, and two houses over, old Mrs. Phillips is watching them with interest.  “Can we go inside?”

“I don’t know,” says Zayn carefully. His heart is pounding out of control, and he doesn’t even know why. 

“Right,” says Liam.  He smells like sunscreen and laundry soap.  Zayn feels an inappropriate prickle of arousal. Time to shut this conversation down.

“Okay,” he says shortly.  “Well, I should probably –“ 

“Listen, about Dani—“

“It’s fine, Liam,” says Zayn, frustration starting to flare up again.  Why can’t Liam just leave it?  As though the situation isn’t embarrassing enough without Liam wanting to talk it over like this. “Okay?  Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t stick around to meet her, I just –“

“We broke up,” says Liam in a jumble. 

“What?”

“Me and Dani,” Liam’s voice is hurried, like he’s afraid if he stops he won’t be able to start talking again. “Last night. I just – thought you should know. Since we were talking about it the other night, on the boat, and – yeah.” 

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” says Zayn.  Liam’s eyes are downcast, and Zayn feels a pang of sympathy.  He wants to reach out and pat Liam on the shoulder, but he’s not going to do that. Obviously.  Liam probably wouldn’t even want him to. 

“It was a long time coming,” says Liam, looking uncomfortable.  He looks like he has a lot more to say, but isn’t sure how to phrase it. 

“Uh,” says Zayn, against his better judgment, trying not to think about what it might mean that Liam came all the way across town to tell him this in person, “do you wanna – come inside, actually? Have some tea?”

“Sure,” says Liam right away. 

Zayn leads the way up to his apartment, wishing he’d tidied up yesterday.  There are books everywhere, and the sink is filled with dirty coffee mugs. Liam follows him through the front door and waits obediently like a puppy. 

“I just, I needed to talk to you,” he says, sounding like it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. Zayn knows what he wants to talk about – he must have figured out how Zayn feels.  And he doesn’t feel the same way, obviously.  But Zayn’s not in the mood to be let down easy. 

“I don’t really wanna – talk about that,” says Zayn. “Can we just –“

“Talk about what?” 

“You know,” says Zayn, fiddling uncomfortably with the kettle.  He feels very tired, suddenly.  Liam’s standing next to him at the counter, a little too close.  

“Listen,” says Liam.  “I’m sorry, okay?  I’m fucking – I’m really sorry.  I’m sorry for how I acted on the boat, and I’m sorry about the party, and can you just – hear me out for a minute?”  

“Fine,” says Zayn resignedly. He moves to fill the kettle with water, but Liam grabs his hand.  A little shock moves through Zayn, and he stills instantly. 

Liam’s staring at him with a curious expression. Purposeful and almost frightened. 

“I just –“ says Liam, and then he stops, shakes his head, and tries again.  “I, um. This whole time. I just – I really like being friends with you, Zayn, and – I don’t want to ruin that.  But—“

“If this is you trying to let me down easy,” Zayn warns, “I don’t wanna fucking hear it, okay?  I already know.” 

“Let you down easy?”

“I know you know how I feel about you,” says Zayn wearily. He starts to fill the kettle with water. “I didn’t exactly hide it. And I know you –“ 

“Wait,” says Liam, eyes wider than Zayn’s ever seen them.  “Wait. How _you_ feel–?  That’s not what I’m – Zayn, it’s –“ 

He makes a noise of frustration, like the words aren’t coming out the way he wants. He’s looking at Zayn with a strange, intent expression. 

“What –“ Zayn starts to say, without really knowing where he’s going with it, at the same time that Liam says “Please –“ and suddenly their lips are pressed together, Liam’s feet shuffling between his, pulling him closer.   

Zayn drops the kettle.  Water pools around their feet, but Zayn barely notices.  For once, he doesn't think of anything at all.  


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a clumsy, unplanned motion, and Zayn makes an embarrassing little squeak of surprise.  Liam’s lips are soft and a little chapped, and his stubble drags along Zayn’s cheek as he pulls away.  He looks as shocked as Zayn feels. 

“Um,” says Zayn, one hand rising involuntarily to his mouth.  His head is completely empty for once.  

“ _Shit_ ,” whispers Liam, horrified.  “I’m sorry. God.  I’ll – I should go.”

“No, wait,” says Zayn quickly, and Liam looks at him.

“Zayn—“ 

“Liam, no, I—” says Zayn, out of breath for no reason, and then he’s not sure who moves first but they’re kissing again. Liam’s hands are strong and gentle on his waist, and his mouth tastes like Coca-Cola and sweet mint. Liam grabs his hips, pushing him back against the counter, and Zayn moans involuntarily into his mouth. He drags his tongue over Liam’s lips, and Liam parts them to let him in, making an incredible little noise that goes straight to Zayn’s dick. 

“Fuck,” whispers Zayn, gripping Liam’s shirt as Liam presses a hot kiss to the side of his mouth, stubble scratcy and enticing. He’s got one strong arm wrapped around Zayn’s lower back and the other cupping his face.  It’s sudden and unstoppable, like a tidal wave.

 “Is this – is this alright?” Liam asks, breathing hard, and Zayn nods quickly, not trusting himself to speak. It’s so much better than alright. They watch each other for a few seconds, Liam’s lips parted and slightly swollen.  Then they’re crashing together again, and Liam’s got his hands cupped under Zayn’s thighs, lifting him up onto the counter and stepping between his legs.  A pan clatters to the floor and Zayn barely notices. 

He clutches Liam’s shoulders, kissing him furiously. He can feel Liam’s dick, hard and long, pressed against his stomach and arousal shoots through him like a lightning bolt. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispers against Liam’s lips, “oh please.”

“Zayn,” pants Liam, grinding against him gently, “what do you want?”

“You,” says Zayn at once, no room in his mind for shame or embarrassment or anything beyond the feeling of Liam’s hand wound through his hair, Liam’s body pressed against his.  It’s everything he’s been wanting for the last – god even knows how long – right here, sudden and explosive, surrounding him.  

He should be thinking responsibly – Liam’s just gone through a breakup, he’s vulnerable, maybe they shouldn’t be doing this, but Zayn can’t think straight.  Not with Liam’s body pushed up against him, Liam’s big hands cupping his face, thumb caressing his cheek.  Against his better judgment, he hooks his fingers in Liam’s belt loops and hitches them even closer together.   

“Fuck,” Liam groans, kissing him again, nipping his lower lip.  “Can we – can I – um, is there a place we can –“

“Bedroom,” Zayn growls, barely recognizing his own voice. Liam’s brown eyes look almost black as he pulls Zayn off of the counter, and Zayn drags him down the hall. They tumble onto Zayn’s bed, pushing clothes and books and colored pencils and Zayn’s big Bose headphones onto the floor.  Zayn can’t get enough of Liam’s skin, tan and warm, and the way his stubble feels dragging over his chest, down his stomach.  

It’s hard and messy and kind of rough, but Liam’s lips on his tattoos feel like absolution.  Zayn doesn’t want to think about what this means.  He just wants to keep doing it.  They shed clothes like snakeskin, Zayn pulling Liam’s shirt over his head, Liam struggling with the buckle on Zayn’s belt. 

“Want you so bad,” he murmurs against Zayn’s lips, and Zayn doesn’t give a fuck if he means it or not.  It’s too hard to focus on anything when Liam’s grinding against him like that, panting into his mouth, hand dangerously close to Zayn’s cock.

“Really wanna fuck you,” Liam mumbles, and then stops, stricken.  “I’m sorry – I don’t mean to, like –“

“Shut the fuck up, Liam,” hisses Zayn into his mouth, “please, just –“ He drags Liam’s hand between his legs, and Liam’s fingers close around his cock.  Zayn moans, cheek pressed to Liam’s throat, trembling.  “Please, please fuck me,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” says Liam, pupils huge and dark, staring at Zayn like he’s never seen him before.  Zayn wants to ask if he’s ever done this, but he can’t find the words. And it soon becomes apparent that he has.  They start gentle, Zayn on his hands and knees, struggling to keep himself upright as Liam fucks him, slow and sweet.  It feels so good he wants to cry.  Liam’s fingers dig into Zayn’s hips when he pushes back against him, relishing the little groan that falls from Liam’s mouth. 

“God, you feel good,” he says, like he can’t believe it.  

“Harder, please,” says Zayn through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” says Liam, sounding strained. “Can you turn over? I wanna – see you.”

Zayn flips over, heart pounding. Their eyes lock as Liam slowly pushes back up into him.  “Oh fuck,” says Zayn, trying to keep his eyes open.  

“Yeah,” whispers Liam, eyes burning into Zayn’s. “You like that? That’s good?”

“So good,” moans Zayn.  “God.  Please, fuck me hard, Liam, I—“ 

For all of his rule-following and goody-two-shoes attitude, Liam doesn’t need to be told twice.  Zayn’s never felt anything like it.  There’s rough sex, and then there’s – this. Zayn’s never had anyone fuck him so hard but touch his face so gently at the same time, rough-padded fingers tracing so softly over his cheekbones, like Zayn might disappear out from under him.

In the back of his mind is just sheer wonder – he’s having sex with Liam.  Screw the consequences.  Screw anything except this moment.  Zayn reaches up to kiss Liam again – who knows how long he’ll have to do that, he needs to get it in while he can – and Liam presses against him, hooking an arm around his waist, fucking him hard and steady.  

“Ohh, fuck yeah, please, don’t stop,” murmurs Zayn frantically, unable to control his words as Liam pulls back, hitching one of Zayn’s legs up over his shoulder.  They both moan at the new angle, and the sight of Liam with his hair hanging sweaty over his eyes, chest bare and glistening, eyes half-closed with lust is not one that Zayn will soon forget. 

 “I can’t believe I thought you were straight,” he blurts out without meaning to, and Liam starts laughing, helplessly, still fucking Zayn, sounding a little hysterical.

“There was – a time—” he says, pressing the side of his face to Zayn’s sweaty calf, “when I thought that too.”

Zayn laughs as well, helpless and giddy. He’s gonna come soon. There’s no getting around it. He doesn’t want to – he wants this to last much, much longer, possibly forever – but he feels it building deep in his belly like an earthquake.  

“Oh fuck,” he whispers.  Liam smiles down at him, holding his leg, hitching him closer and closer with each thrust.  “I’m gonna – Leeyum, fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna –“ 

“Oh yeah,” groans Liam, fucking him even faster, reaching for his cock, “yeah, that’s it, oh come for me, babe—“

It builds and builds in Zayn until for a blinding second he’s almost scared of how hard he’s about to come, but there’s no time – it’s happening in an instant, the feeling of Liam inside him, Liam’s hand wrapped his cock, it’s way too much.  He’s coming before he knows it, a blinding thoughtless spasm of light, and in that instant, nothing matters.  Liam fucks him through it, hand slick and messy on his cock, and Zayn opens his eyes again to see Liam staring at him. 

“You’re so,” says Liam, panting, hips rough and erratic, skin shiny with sweat, “god, you’re fucking – so hot, I can’t even –“ On impulse, Zayn grabs his hands and twines their fingers together. Liam’s eyelids are fluttering, and Zayn can feel his cock pulsing as he starts to come, fingers threaded tightly through Zayn’s. 

“Oh my god, Zayn,” he wrenches out, like he’s in pain, “oh my – _god_.” It lasts a second, and an eternity. Then he’s collapsing against Zayn’s chest, damp hair tickling Zayn’s chin, stubble scratchy against his throat. They lay still for a moment, wrapped up in each other on Zayn’s messy bed with the sheets kicked down to their ankles.  

Then Liam says, with a wondering, almost-giggle in his voice: “I had no idea.”

“ _I_ had no idea,” says Zayn, words tumbling out fast and grateful. “You had no idea? I was so – Harry always said that I was super embarrassing –“

“I thought, honestly,” says Liam, “that you thought I was some kind of obsessive weirdo –“ 

“I didn’t!”

“— like always creeping around waiting for you after work –“ 

“You waited for me after work?” 

“Sometimes,” Liam admits.  Zayn laughs incredulously, sweat cooling on his skin and giddy joy swooping up through his belly into his chest.  Can this be real?  

“I mean,” continues Liam, “I like jogging and all, but there’s only so many times that I could, like, just so happen to be jogging past the diner right as you’re walking home, I mean –“ 

“Stalker,” says Zayn, and Liam hides his face in Zayn’s hair.  

“Don’t judge me!”  

“I’m a stalker weirdo too,” Zayn says, and it’s like he physically can’t stop himself from smiling.  His voice feels slow and languid. It feels like a dream – Liam’s eyes from this close, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead, fingers trailing up and down Zayn’s arm, over his tattoos. 

“Are you?” Liam asks.  It looks like he can’t stop smiling either. He has a gorgeous smile. He’s propped up on his elbow next to Zayn, squished up against him on the tiny bed.  He’s all tousled sandy hair and crinkled-up eyes, and sweaty skin for miles.  Yep, Zayn’s clearly dreaming. 

“Yes,” he says, and Liam kisses him, soft and dreamy. Then he says: “Wow. I can’t believe – this. I was feeling so shitty earlier, and now –” 

“I know,” says Zayn, but he feels a pang of guilt twist in his chest.  Should he say something? Is it awkward? He has no idea.  “Listen though, so like – is this – okay?  Are you okay? With your – breakup?” 

“Oh,” Liam says, looking downcast, and Zayn immediately regrets saying anything.  “Yeah, it’s okay.  You’re nice. For asking.  Um.  It was honestly, like – something we’d been talking about for awhile.  It’s actually why she came up.“

“Hm,” says Zayn, because he has no idea what else to say.  It’s strange to discuss this with Liam as they lay in his bed, sweaty and intertwined. It’s truly something he never could’ve seen coming. 

“Yeah,” says Liam, with a little half-smile. “I mean, it was kinda – things had been rough for awhile.  And she was seeing this guy in London, I guess – I don’t know.  And then I, of course, was feeling guilty _all the time,_ about you –“

“About me?” Zayn asks, bemused, and Liam laughs.

“Yes,” he says.  “About you.  About how badly I wanted to do this –“ he trails his hand up Zayn’s hip, tracing over the wings on his chest, and brushes his thumb across Zayn’s lips.

“Did you, um,” Zayn starts to say, then cuts off, blushing.  He was going to ask if Liam had told Danielle about him, but that was too much. He can’t ask that. Liam gives him a puzzled look. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m sorry you were feeling shitty earlier.” 

“It’s alright,” says Liam, grinning. “I was just being a brat. I thought I was gonna hear back from the committee today, about that job, and then the stuff with Danielle, and I thought you – like – I don’t know, had gotten the wrong idea, I was just –“

“I had,” Zayn admits.  “Gotten the wrong idea, I mean.  I, um.  Talk about being a brat.  I’m sorry. I just – seeing you guys together, after we’d been all – y’know, on the boat, and –”

“Flirty,” says Liam.  His eyes are _so_ brown. Zayn swallows, hard. Liam bites his lip. “The word you’re looking for is flirty.” 

He’s giving Zayn a coy little smile with his eyes half-lidded, and Zayn wants to laugh but can’t.  God.  This is just so unbelievable.  He leans forward and presses a kiss to Liam’s mouth, just because he can.

“Yes,” says Zayn.  “Flirty.”  

“No, I understand though,” says Liam, “why you ran away.  Um, that came out wrong. Not that you, like, _ran away_ , I just meant –“

Zayn’s laughing.  That happy feeling’s still buzzing around in his chest, swooping and dizzy. “No, I ran away,” he says, “you’re right, you don’t have to backtrack.”

Liam’s laughing too, one hand casually on Zayn’s hip. “I just, like.  I felt so bad, but I didn’t know what to say, and I texted you like a hundred times – sorry about that, by the way –“ 

“It’s okay,” says Zayn.  “I, uh.  I didn’t really read them.  I think I’m winning the brat competition.”

“Oh are we competing now?” Liam asks, grinning. “Because I’ve got something—“

But Zayn doesn’t get a chance to find out what he’s got, because Liam’s phone starts buzzing in his jeans, which are pooled on the floor next to the bed.  Liam reaches over Zayn, fumbling in his pocket. 

“Huh,” he says, looking puzzled. “It’s Louis.”

“You gonna answer it?”

“No,” says Liam, grinning.  “I know what he wants.”

“What?”

“Me to listen while he obsesses over the sub. It’s what he always wants.” 

The phone stops buzzing.  Zayn grins.  “You guys are getting close to identifying it, huh?”

“Louis is,” says Liam.  “I haven’t been down in awhile.  Been busy with –“

His phone’s buzzing again, and Liam looks at it, brow furrowed.  “It’s Louis again.” He sits up next to Zayn. “I’m just gonna see what he wants, okay?”

“Sure,” says Zayn, smiling.  He pulls on his shirt.  “I’ll make us some tea for real.” 

Liam smiles.  “That sounds nice.”

Zayn pads out of the room, hearing Liam answer the phone – “Hey, what’s up?” and then a long silence.  He wonders if they should talk about this more. Liam essentially confessed to having feelings for him – right?  Or did he? Zayn mentally composes a cool and non-awkward way to re-open the topic.

He’s filling the kettle when Liam walks into the kitchen, fully dressed.  “Hey,” says Zayn, smiling, when he notices Liam’s ashen face and wild eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I gotta go,” says Liam.  His voice is strange, tight and scared.  “There’s trouble – they need me.  One of the guys is trapped in the sub, and Louis can’t dive because he just decompressed – there's no one else.  They need me to go down.  I’m sorry, Zayn, I’ll – there’s no time.  I’ll explain later.  I gotta go right now.”

Zayn’s heart pounds.  He doesn’t know much about diving, but he’s never seen Liam look like this before.  There’s real fear in his eyes.  It seems like a moment where anything could happen.  He has a million things he wants to say, and they all stick in his throat.  “Please be careful,” he says finally, and Liam grabs his hand, tight. 

He doesn’t say anything, just kisses Zayn once, fiercely, on the mouth and pelts out of the room.  The front door slams behind him.  Zayn’s left holding the overflowing kettle in the sink, and he gently sets it down, hand shaking. The room seems far too empty and still suddenly.  Zayn’s mind races ahead to Liam in trouble, Liam putting himself in danger to save someone else.  He should’ve told him not to go. Not that he would’ve listened.  With a jolt, Zayn remembers the articles he'd read before he really knew Liam, about his friend who drowned while they were diving together.  

Zayn wants to follow Liam, go with him, somehow, keep him safe.  He keeps seeing the article title in his mind over and over again -- Teen Diving Star Risks Life For Drowned Friend -- and his heart sinks lower and lower.  He sits down on the kitchen floor and calls Harry, who doesn't pick up.  And after a few minutes of wild indecision, he pulls on a jacket and heads out the door, towards the docks.  


End file.
